


It's All Over But The Crying

by AccioRavenclaw



Series: All Roads Lead Somewhere [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Mild Timeline Alteration, Multi, Nuka World, Raiders, The Disciples - Freeform, The Operators, The Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioRavenclaw/pseuds/AccioRavenclaw
Summary: Years after Grace left the Capital Wasteland, she has found herself settling into a different kind of life in the Commonwealth.  These days her life is calmer than they were when she was the Capital's Lone Wanderer.  Now she's just a simple drifter, passing through the settlements of the Commonwealth as she pleases.  Until a job lands in her lap and a new title is given to her: Overboss.After The Pitt she'd told herself she was done working for Raiders, but it seems that this time she's destined to be Overboss of Nuka World.





	1. How All The Worst Jobs Start

**Author's Note:**

> The previous fic in this series covers the events of Fallout 3 and is by no means required reading for this fic, but might provide some background on Grace and what's happened up to this point if you’re interested.

It takes a few clicks of the wheel of the salvaged lighter, but eventually it holds a flame. With her other hand she pulls her scarf higher over her nose. The old moth-eaten wool itches, but it’s warm enough. 

“Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me,” she sings, barely above a whisper, as she holds the lighter. The flame light dances off her eyes. It flickers in the wind of the empty Red Rocket she’s barricaded herself into. “Happy birthday dear Grace, happy birthday to me.” 

She stares for a moment. Make a wish, she thinks. Hope the next raider has a decent pack of smokes on them.

Then with a flick of her wrist the lighter snaps shut and everything around her plummets back into moonlit shadows. She doesn’t have cake, in fact she hasn’t had any on her birthday for quite a few years now. 

Even if I had any, she thinks, at least Andy isn’t here to run his saw through it before anyone can eat it. It’s a bittersweet thought, she hasn’t thought of the old Mr. Handy in years. Not since she – not since the Capital. 

_It wasn’t cake on his saw the last time she saw him._

She shakes her head, banishes the memory. She pulls the jacket tighter around her chest. The winters here are far harsher than the Capital. No matter how many she has endured, it seems she never quite adapts to the cold.

She sighs, her breath warming the scarf around her face, and curls up tighter. There’s enough wood to build a small fire, but she won’t risk it. In the not too far off distance she heard a few gun shots, and she doesn’t want to find out if they’re raiders or mutants. She checks the pistol at her hip, slides the clip out and counts her shots. She huffs a short sigh: Not enough. Not nearly enough if she runs into trouble.

She checks her pip-boy again, sees the clock says it’s still only just past midnight. Dawn is still a long way off.

* * *

“Alright, stand back.” Danny says through the intercom. Grace doesn’t wait, she lifts her pack and ducks under the gate as soon as it’s high enough for her to slip through. Security waves her to the desk and she obeys. She answers questions while Danny fills out the log book. 

_Grave Rivera. Trader / Scaver_

Danny writes in a quick scrawl. The ballpoint pen is running dry, Grace thinks, but she doesn’t offer him a new one. Not when Myrna will offer her a decent amount of caps for it. Gone are the days she handed things out for free. 

She signs the dotted line then walks through the gate. She heads right for the market, ignoring the crier for the town’s local paper. Last time she picked up a copy it had been nothing but tabloid rumor. Some account of the “Broken Mask incident”, as the city calls it.

Pushing onward, she walks right into the market place past the noodle stand and right to Diamond City Surplus. “Myrna! How’s my favorite shopkeeper doing today?” 

“Oh so I’m your favorite now?” Myrna replies with a crease in her brow. “What’s this I hear about you selling those boxes of Abraxo to Solomon last week, huh?” 

Grace smiles wider, “That was a special request, Myrna. If you need something specific, you know you just gotta ask.” 

She moves the pack off her shoulder and starts working the zipper. It’s standard procedure that Grace has perfected over the last handful of years. She hands Myrna the goods: valuable scrap and salvaged components. Myrna inspects each piece, then determines the worth based on condition and usefulness. Grace spends no less than a half hour debating Myrna’s prices and always leaves with a headache and a small sack of caps. 

The caps are always enough for her to bargain with Arturo on ammo and still have caps to spare for a trip to the Dugout Inn. A bottle of Bobrov’s Best usually lasts her the week. 

Vadim slides the bottle to her across the bar. “Why the long face?” He asks, “Usually a bottle of moonshine brightens up the day, no? Or at least it will if you drink it right!” He tilts his head back to let out a loud laugh, which fills the whole bar as other patrons try to ignore him through their own drinks. At least it drowns out the radio and Travis stuttering over whatever story he’s trying to get through.

“Your moonshine is good, Vadim.” She replies. “It’s just been another long slog through the city, that’s all.” 

“Ah, but you’re too young to have such complaints!” 

Her lips curl slightly, “I guess I’m getting older.”

“Nonsense,” Vadim insists. “You don’t look a day over twenty.” 

Grace chuckles and knows that he knows that’s quite far from the truth. “Just turned twenty-six.” She admits. 

“No! Not possible, you’ve only been in the city – um, what – two years now?” He replies.

“More like five, but who’s counting.” Grace shrugs. She doesn’t correct him that she’s only been in and out of the city once or twice a week over the past several years. She doesn’t see a reason to explain the monotony of her daily life.

“You should settle down Grace. There is housing open here in the city; nice and safe behind The Wall.”

But Grace shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I’m built for settling down. I’m a wanderer at heart.” A lone wanderer, she thinks and can almost hear it like the old radio stories from the Capital. 

“You can’t be a wanderer forever,” Vadim replies. “You could get a job like Scarlett, and you wouldn’t have to worry about using moonshine for bullet wounds.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Vadim. I’ll think about it.” She says, already knowing that she won’t.

“I mean it. You should ask the mayor’s secretary for a key. If she asks, say you have job in my bar. You won’t have to worry about wages like you do with crazy Myrna.”

“I’ll think about it,” she echoes. She drops the bottle into her pack, thanks Vadim again, and leaves before he can insist anymore. 

With her pack significantly lighter and restocked on the essentials, she walks back towards the gate. She could stay if she wanted to; she knows she could. But the idea of being tied to a place doesn’t sit well with her. Not after Megaton: the responsibility of owning a house isn’t something she’s eager to deal with again.

She pulls a cigarette from the slightly fresh pack in her duster pocket. Puts a cigarette in her mouth and holds it while she fiddles with the lighter. Click-click-click. It lights on the third attempt. 

She looks at her pip-boy and knows it’s a good walk to Bunker Hill. If she runs through the night she’ll make it by early morning. Or she could stop in Goodneighbor, and see if the latest rumors coming out of there check out or not. Truth be told she hopes they are, though these days she doesn’t trust anything unless she sees it for herself. Word of mouth is shit in the Commonwealth.

She exhales smoke as Danny lowers the gate behind her. She walks, messing with the dial on her pip-boy. Static, instrumental music, static, and then: "A place with all the zip of Nuka-Cola. Come on down to Nuka-World and see it for yourself." 

Grace shuts the radio off. Stupid jingle, she thinks. The signal recently went live again. Probably some old feral ghoul who hit a switch in an old building somewhere, she figures; either way the overtly cheery tone of the song is enough to give her a headache.

Ignoring the radio, she looks at the map on her wrist. Goodneighbor doesn't seem like the worst option; better than legging it to Bunker Hill through the night or holding up in an abandoned building. And if the rumors are wrong, she can always slip back out the gate. It’s a risk she’s willing to take.

* * *

She drops her bag on Daisy’s counter. Goodneighbor is aglow in soft light from the setting sun as well as the overhead strings and the few scavenged lamp posts. It's easier on her eyes than she knows the stadium lights of Diamond City would be.

“Well well, Buttercup, long time no see.” The woman smiles, leaning on the counter with her hand under her chin. “What brings you back to my neck of the woods?”

“I hear things have been better since Hancock put Vic in the ground a few weeks back.” Grace shrugs. Plays it like it’s nothing. It’s not uncommon for people to drift in and out of the settlement: there one minute and gone the next. Grace’s own long periods of absence certainly isn’t unusual either, not by Goodneighbor standards. Not by a long shot. 

“Yeah well, it’s true.” Daisy replies. “Hancock’s running the place now. He’s not half bad. I hope he lasts longer than most, he’s a good enough kid.” 

“Hope so too,” Grace replies. “I’d like to make Goodneighbor a regular stop again.” 

“You looking for work? Because I have a few things behind the counter that could do with some repairing if you have the time.” 

“Sure thing, regular rate still good?” Grace asks.

“Yeah, and tell you what, you get my old stove-top working again and I’ll throw in something extra.” 

Grace smiles. Stoves and hotplates are usually easy fixes. They’re certainly not as difficult as installing an old relay dish, nor anywhere near as dangerous. Just the way Grace likes it these days. “It’s a deal.”

Hours later she sits on a bar stool in the Third Rail with a box of fancy lads and a glass of good whiskey. The best birthday meal she’s had in a long time. The cakes are a little stale, but the frosting still tastes like artificial strawberry, not that she ever had the real thing to compare it to. Unfortunately strawberries burned with the rest of the world; however that doesn’t stop her from enjoying the little snack cakes. 

I got my birthday cake after all, she thinks.

It’s too good to last though as a man comes running into the bar, shouting his head off. “Please! Someone help me, they have my family!” 

“Would you cut that racket out?!” Charlie shouts over him, the Mr. Handy unit pointing the pincer appendage in his direction. The robot continues to shout, even calls for the bouncer. 

Stay out of it, Grace thinks to herself with her hand around her glass. Nothing good ever comes of these cases. She's had enough bad jobs to know.

“It’s raiders, please!” The man cries. He walks frantically, turning between the people gathered in the bar. Most ignore him, pull away from his outstretched hands. Grace watches from across the bar. His clothes are in tatters, his hair and beard are both long and mangy; she figures it's probably been awhile since he’s trimmed or groomed either. 

The man sees her, makes eye contact and comes walking up to the bar where she sits. Shit, she thinks. Shouldn’t have made eye contact. That’s how all the worst jobs start. 

“Please, you have to help me, they have my family.” He begs. “You look tough,” he pointedly eyes her gun: the rifle across her back. He can’t see the pistol under her duster or the combat knives she has hidden in her boot and belt. "I’m sure you can scare the raiders off and rescue them! I don’t have much, but I’ll find a way to pay you!”

Grace narrows her eyes and doesn't trust him for an instant. She sees him and can only think of Wernher. Been down that road before, Grace thinks bitterly. "I'm sorry but I can't help you." 

The look in his eyes, it's like he breaks. “No please,” he pleads as tears run down his cheeks. "You don't understand, they have my wife and daughter. She's only ten, please you have to help me, no one else will.

Grace can feel her molars grind. She thinks, exhales long through her nose and says, "Where are they being kept?" 

"The raiders dragged them onto the train to the west, the Nuka-World transit center." 

_Fucking bleeding heart_ , Grace scolds herself. Of course it's there of all fucking places. She stands from the bar stool, knocks back the rest of her drink then asks, “What’s your name?”

“It’s Harvey,” the man says.


	2. The Gauntlet

This world can officially bite my ass, Grace thinks bitterly as the bridge gives out from under her and water rushes into her boots. Never mind the inconvenience of the mirelurks emerging from the mud. She dispatches them with relative ease, unloading a clip of 10mm into their exposed undersides.

Ammo isn’t fucking cheap either, she thinks through gritted teeth as she walks past the corpses and stomps on eggs.

This Gauntlet isn’t the nicest deathtrap she’d been thrown into, but she has been through worse. After the Steelyard of the fucking Pitt, this is an inconvenience at best. A mirelurk pit has nothing on the Trog infested cesspit that was the Steelyard. And she had done that in nothing but rags and an explosive collar; here they are at least nice enough to let her keep her shit.

Fucking Harvey, she thinks as she snipes the head off a cymbal-monkey in the middle of the room. The announcer lets out a disappointed sigh over the intercom, lamenting her lack of fun. Grace snorts, pulls a pin off a grenade and tosses it into the room of turrets for good measure.

Fuck him – and fuck herself – because she knew better. He stank like Wernher and lo and behold, she was right. Damn her, she was right.

What does she care if a bunch of raiders snagged a couple of poor saps, she hasn’t for years. But he bats his eye lashes and pleads for the life of his daughter and she caved. Because she thought that some father gave a damn about their kid. And look where the sentimentality got her.

She isn’t a candle, burning herself up to give light to others. That was a lesson she had learned a hell of a long time ago, punching in numbers on the keypad to her parent’s dream. She isn’t a hero and sure as hell isn’t a saint. Ask the bodies she left piled in the Capital, the Pitt, Point Lookout, and all across the Commonwealth.

She walks into the gas room, which admittedly is a better threat than anything else she’s seen so far in this death trap. It’s hard to think straight and find the damn key when each breath burns in her lungs and radroaches are swarming at her ankles. She falls, scraping her hands on debris, but she pushes herself back up before they get on top of her. She stomps her feet down, squishing them. It’s just more energy than she wants to expend on them when she has other pressing matters to attend. 

Her scraped up hands hurt to type with. Suck it up, she scolds herself. Because she’s been through worse and she has to get out. Her fingers fumble over the keyboard to the terminal, she can’t think straight from the lack of oxygen. 

The terminal beeps at her last attempt to hack the password and she curses. Loud and angry she shouts as it locks her out. The password has to be somewhere. She starts ripping draws out of the desk. She finds nothing and starts to push around the room. 

The voice on the speakers laughs at her. She does not scream at him to fuck off, she doesn’t have the energy or air to waste in the effort. She finally finds the password in a barely legible scrawl on a piece of scrap paper among the radroach bodies. She must’ve knocked it over when she fell. 

When she finally pushes beyond the heavy metal door, she falls to her knees: tears in her eyes and gasping for fresher air. “F-fuck,” she coughs, hard and wheezy. “Fuckin’ Harvey!” 

The moment passes, she brings her breathing back under control, and gets back to the Gauntlet at hand. She shoots a bunch of giant ants. Fucking ants of all fucking things. She certainly didn’t miss those from the Capital. Not the giant ants nor the centaurs.

Fortunately she hasn’t seen those around yet. 

But she doesn’t have long to linger on her hatred of the insects. There’s the maze before her to navigate. It’s complete with “audience participation” walking just above her head. She shoots one of the raiders, a bullet cutting into their leg, as she runs by.

“The damn vic shot me!” They exclaim as though no one else has ever had the balls to do it. Maybe no one has, but what did they expect when they were wearing a stuffed animal as armor? Carnival cotton doesn’t stop bullets. 

Grace scoffs, “Jackasses.” Leave it to raiders: never that original or prepared. So what if a few in this batch are just a bit more colorful? They all turn out the same anyway.

Then she’s through the final heavy, metal door and a siren is blaring in her ears. “You know what that means, folks! Get your asses down to Cola-Cars and settle in for the slaughter!” The announcer shouts above the noise.

Grace snorts, watching a man in scraped power armor parade around the arena. She can see through the plexiglass windows: It’s a salvaged theme park attraction. It’s not the Hole of the Pitt, not by a long shot. And judging by this man’s power armor – the way he overcompensates as he walks in the rig – he’s no Ashur either.

“Ah, there’s my next victim now.” The man says looking back up at her through the window. He chuckles, “Don’t look like much.”

She ignores his puffed-out speech of how the fight will go. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before from a dozen other morons: except they’re all dead now. 

She flips the raider boss off for good measure and makes her way to the locker room, the man laughing behind her. There she listens to the voice from the train speak on the intercom: Gage she thinks he said his name was. She wanders around as he gives instructions. As he explains how the fight is rigged, she pulls a fusion core from a nearby generator and smirks at the voice’s surprise when he notices the power levels drop.

No shit, Grace thinks rolling her eyes and pocketing the fusion core. It’s not so difficult to put two and two together, but then again not everyone has her vault education. Apparently it goes much further beyond common sense. 

But what did she really expect from raiders? That bar isn’t very high to begin with.

She walks towards the arena and her certain death; with a water gun in hand because why the hell not. She knows the theory is sound. Also, as far as plans go, it’s about as good as any she’d had before.

Better than Midea and Wernher’s plans from so long ago. 

Except the damn thing works. The electricity short circuits, and she has her opening. She drops the water filled toy and pulls the knife from her belt. She sprints, pivots and gets behind the bulky armor. She jumps and holds onto the chan-link protector protruding from the back. She grips the blade tight and stabs down, severing an artery. It’s not clean as blood squirts from the wound and she wedges the blade free: the man screaming and the crowd’s roars in her ears. 

Like being back in the Hole – beating in Gruber’s face – Grace stabs down again and again. The assembled crowd goes wild around her; but she drowns them out. The shouts, the chanting of “death”, and the howls. She ignores it all as she focuses on the man in the armor.

“How?” He gurgles. His eyes still wide and blood bubbling past his lips. No doubt in shock how she managed to get past his so-called invincible defenses. 

Grace says nothing, just stabs repeatedly. She does not stop. Not until the man drops to his knees, then falls face down onto the ground and she stumbles off with the momentum. Her fingers slick and sticky around the handle of the blade. Grace gives it a quick wipe clean on the upper thigh of her pant leg. She spits down on the corpse, “Moron.”

When she hears herself speak, she realizes the voices around her through the haze of her own adrenaline. How they all break out all at once: the announcer over the loudspeaker, Gage, and several distinct voices in the audience all arguing around her. It's the announcer she hears above the rest: “Gage, what the hell just happened?”

In fact, now she can see the man who was the source of the voice from the intercom in the locker room and the train. The man who had – for some reason or another – helped her survive the encounter. 

Brow creased, Grace gives him a look over. He is dressed in standard raider armor: scrapped metals that form a chest plate over a dirty green tank top. He also sports a metal patch over his right eye and his hair is cut into a short, somewhat neat looking mohawk. At least as neat as one can accomplish with a self-cut; which Grace happens to have in common with him. Seems they both don’t trust others with sharp objects around their heads.

When he finishes speaking up on her behalf to the other raiders, he turns to her. Together they speak with her still behind the plexiglass walls of the arena. Smart, Grace thinks, I’m still armed and he has no idea what I’ll do to him. 

Not to mention the small fact that she is still gripping the knife and she is covered in blood up to her forearms. 

The walls separating them happen to be a good thing too as he explains her latest job: Overboss. “Now look, I realize this is a lot to take in.” The man says, seeing the obvious grimace on her face. “All I’m asking is that you give it a chance. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Her scowl deepens. “First you lure me in here, now you want me to run the place?” It sounds like her first meeting with Ashur all over again, except this time she’s being offered a better job than lieutenant. Been down that road before, she thinks, no thanks. 

“Something like that, let me explain.” Gage says.

“I’m listening,” she says with an edge of impatience. 

“All you need to know is that three gangs run the show at Nuka World – the Disciples, the Operators, and the Pack. And yeah, if the names don’t give it away these ain’t your typical Raiders.” 

“I’ve heard that before, but go on,” Grace interjects. 

“Just you wait and see,” He continues. “These morons don’t exactly play nice with each other. And – thanks to Colter – this place is a powder keg and, with one wrong move, we’ll have a bloodbath on our hands. But I think you have what it takes to turn things around here and keep them from tearin’ each other apart.” 

Grace snorts at that. Of course they want her to solve their problems. People always do; like they somehow suspect that she’s the solution to all their self-made problems. Well fuck that. She promised herself that after the Pitt that was the last time she would ever be used. 

“Oh yeah,” she replies, her tongue coated in sarcasm. “Because a stranger who showed up and killed the old boss obviously can get them all back in line.” 

“You’d be surprised how far a bit of muscle goes around here.” He shrugs.

“Not my first rodeo,” Grace replies. “Gangs this big? Sooner or later it falls to shit.” 

The Pitt had at least been organized better with its power structure. The Lord of the Pitt was in charge, no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”. And Gage expects her to keep three other rulers in check? No way that's happening. 

He shrugs again, feigns indifference but Grace doesn’t miss the way his eyes – _eye_ – widened. “Maybe so, but I still think we got the makings of something good here. Look, I’m not asking you to trust me here, just hear me out and decide then. We can talk on Fizztop Mountain, it’s where the Overboss’s – your new digs are.” 

She stands for a fraction of a minute. She has no way out of the Gauntlet, besides the door he’s locked behind. “Fine,” Grace says. She slips the knife back into her belt. Might as well play nice, she thinks. “I’ll hear you out at least.” 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says as he hits something on the terminal and the gate swings open. He walks and she follows. 

Outside Grace pulls out a cigarette, balancing it in her lips as she fishes out her lighter. She catches Gage’s eye on her. “What?” she asks.

“Nothin’,” he replies, wrinkling his nose a bit.

She says nothing back. Instead she flicks the lighter open and fingers the wheel. She would be polite enough to stand downwind from him, except she knows he wants to keep his eye on her. She’s walked worse streets, but it doesn’t hurt to play nice for now. 

Except until she sees Harvey in the crowd. 

He sees her too. They hold eye contact and Harvey visibly pales at the look on her face. She’s already storming over before Gage realizes she’s not at his side anymore. When he stops and looks they’re already feet apart, but he watches. 

The whole street stops to watch, in fact.

Harvey holds his hands up, palms forward. “H-hey now. No hard feelings, right?”

“You’re a fuckin’ dead man.” Grace says around the cigarette in her mouth. Her tone is as even and calm as if she were commenting on the weather. He was full of shit, she thinks. Just like Wernher, he dragged her into this mess.

“Come on, now, I was just doing my job.” Harvey says, but she can see the sweat starting to bead on his forehead as she walks closer. “It was nothing personal!” He squeaks. He doesn't wait for her to speak, he just turns and starts to run.

Grace pulls her gun, shoots his knees and stares as he curls around himself on the ground. “You want to run? Run on those then." She says above his screaming. She closes the distance between them. "Nothing personal, I just don’t like people who are full of shit. Next time you lie to me, you won't have knees for me to shoot.” 

Harvey whimpers. She turns around, exhales a stream of smoke, then walks back towards Gage. She glances at the on-looking raiders, whispering and nodding among themselves, and says, “Shows over.”

Gage hums as she approaches. “Looks are deceiving indeed.” 

“I told you, this isn’t my first rodeo.”


	3. If You're Going To Do Something, Do It Right

It’s been three days since she killed Colter.

Grace looks over the map again, lit cigarette burning away in her hand. Gage should be back any minute with the other leaders. She still has time to figure out what she’ll say.

Mags and William are already assured by her promise of caps. Logical, cold and calculating: Grace has found them the easiest to negotiate with. The Operators have quickly become her favorite of the gangs. Their power structure, demeanor, and attitude is the easiest to understand and work with.

As for the Pack, Grace isn’t too bothered by the overly loud and bright group. They aren’t too difficult to figure out either: power and strength are how they operate. Gage’s advice to show some teeth had been quite helpful. Somehow Mason was cowed in their first meeting, handing over a brightly painted gun as a sign of acknowledgement. Her first bit of tribute: A gun that now sits on display on the counter by her side.

That left Nisha, the leader of the gang that Grace is the least impressed with. The Disciples feel primitive, hardly distinguishable from the common raiders on the other side of the mountains with their containers of blood and strung up bodies. They are hardly different from the ones that often hunker down in various wasteland hiding holes, popping up like molerats. They are only, perhaps, better dressed than the other raiders she’s seen everywhere from the Capital to the Commonwealth.

The Disciples had been somewhat impressed at her handling of Colter. Using a combat knife had made her somewhat popular with the lower rung members that walked the streets. But that was as far as Grace had gotten with their gang. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how they worked beyond their lust for blood. And Nisha and her lieutenants were far harder to impress. 

Savoy was relatively easy to figure out; for a man of such few words he was loyal to Nisha. The man barely left her side except to carry out orders. Grace doesn’t know if it is a loyalty born out of bedroom favors, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it were.

Dixie, however, worried her. That woman didn’t work on loyalty, she only listened because she had a semblance of power and a source to quench her own twisted blood lust needs. The holotapes were enough evidence of that in Grace’s mind.

And Nisha herself; well Grace is not impressed. The masked woman boasted about embracing a lawless world, and her “don’t get caught” attitude was the obvious source of inner conflict within Nuka Town itself. Grace had said as much, immediately putting the two at odds. It gave Grace the impression that not even she was able to keep control of the gang of over-sized, violent five-year-olds. Which was a whole other problem.

Especially when they sleep right next to her each night and every night. 

Absently, Grace brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag. She tries to enjoy the pleasure of the nicotine, but the map in front of her still nags at her. She called for a meeting because she wasn’t about to let them dump everything on her plate. Three days in Nuka Town and she’s very well aware that Overboss is an empty title. 

It quickly has become clear that Nuka World isn’t a step up from the Pitt, it’s a long way away from being one of Ashur’s lieutenants. She was as sick of raiders then as she is now.

* * *

_Grace cranks the wrench, connects the arm plate to the rig. It’s not necessarily an easy repair; the part being salvaged from other scrap metal from the Steelyard._

_In the other room Grace can hear the excited giggles of a toddler. Ashur is playing with Marie, tossing a teddy bear on the floor in a game that only makes sense to the infant girl. Sandra is in the room too, reading over something on her clipboard. Blood tests or something similar: it’s always the same._

_Grace feels like she’s intruding on a moment, even though she is in a different room of Haven._

_She gets back to work. Not that she has to, she does not wear a collar and she does not fear that she will. Ashur is still thankful for her part in ending Wernher’s plots against him and his family._

_Satisfied with her work, Grace approaches the desk and retrieves the fusion core. She trades it for the wrench in her hand. She puts it in the rig, then steps in. She tests the repair herself, moving the arm and testing for snags or resistance. She has Brotherhood training, she knows how to walk in the rig and make it respond correctly._

_She’s the only other person besides Ashur who does._

_Now truly satisfied with her work, she steps out of the rig and goes to the next room. She politely knocks, rapping her knuckles on the remains of the wooden door. All look up at her: Ashur, Sandra, and little Marie._

_“Finished?” Ashur asks._

_“Yes sir.” She replies._

_She steps aside as he walks past her to his power armor. Grace tries not to stare at the patch of skin on his neck that has started to flake. Instead she watches as he steps into the rig, tests the arm, then bends down to scoop Marie in his arms. The girl laughs as he lifts her up high, pretends that she is flying. Her shrieks of delight echo in the halls. Then he turns back to Grace and says, “Good work as always.”_

_“Thank you.” Grace replies. She knows why he wears the armor as a second skin. Beyond the need of good, solid armor it offers some radiation protection. Not everyone is immune like Grace and Marie._

_“By the way, we got a handful of raw recruits the other day. If you want to break them in, the job’s all yours.” Ashur says._

_Grace nods. “Understood, sir.” He does not look at her, his attention now focused entirely on his daughter. So she dismisses herself to go to her next job. Outside, Grace looks at the red hazed sky and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. A filthy habit she picked up from Bone and Squill._

_“I gotta get out of here.” She says under her breath. When she came back four months earlier, after leaving the Capital, she promised it was short term. Only to resupply for the longer journey, to take what she could from the raiders. Also to give herself a chance to recover from the incident. But somehow she had gotten roped into her job as a lieutenant instead._

_A caravan should be coming in from the north, she knows. Maybe I can hitch a ride wherever they’re going. Doubt it’s worse than this disease riddled pit._

_She lights up her cigarette on the fire of the statue in front of Haven. She still has a job to do in the meantime. Perhaps these latest recruits will know how to shoot straight._

* * *

She hears the sound of the lift climbing up to her quarters. She puts the cigarette out in the ash tray, most of it had burned away anyway. Absently she rubs at the scars on the side of her face. The skin pulls and knots uncomfortably in colder weather. 

She looks up and, as soon as she sees them, says, “Good evening. Take a seat and we’ll get down to business.” She gestures to the bar stools across from her side of the counter.

Gage, Nisha, Mason, Mags and William Black all step off the lift and walk towards the bar. 

“What’s this about, Overboss?” William asks.

“Simple, we’re planning how things will be done from here on out.” She says as Nisha, Mags, and Mason take seats. Gage walks around the bar to stand at her side. William stands behind his sister. 

“That’s supposed to be your job,” Mason says.

“Colter might have been content to live in his mountain, but that’s not how I plan to do my job.” Grace replies. “We all have to play nice, so we all need to be part of the planning. If anyone doesn’t like it, they’re free forfeit their say along with any opinion they have when shit doesn’t go the way they might’ve wanted it.”

She pauses. Those gathered around her mutter their agreement. 

“So what exactly are we planning?” Nisha asks, in a bored undertone. As though she has other things she could be doing. Like skinning some poor, unfortunate trader or wanderer that happened to pass into her territory.

“Glad you asked. Let’s start with numbers,” Grace replies and gestures to the map on the counter between them. “As you can see, there are five unclaimed parks. It also happens that we have three gangs to split the parks with. Now, did nobody explain to Colter that three is a prime number?” 

“A what?” Mason asks.

“A number that is not divisible by three.” Grace clarifies. Gage coughs next to her but she ignores it. “So, in order to avoid hurt feelings in the future, let’s talk about who will be getting what once the parks are cleared.” 

“Pack gets Safari Adventure,” Mason quickly interjects before Grace can continue.

“Really now, who would’ve guessed?” Mags replies. 

Behind her William says, “Highly original.”

“The Disciples want Dry Rock Gulch and Kiddie Kingdom.” Nisha says just as quickly.

“Hold on, that’s two parks!” Mason snaps at her. “The Pack could do more with Kiddie Kingdom than your lot could!”

Nisha sneers, “You would turn it into another zoo, isn’t one enough for you animals?” 

“Oh and you’ll just turn it into a dumping ground of gore.” Mason snaps back.

“Do we get nothing?!” William snaps.

“Do we get no say in this?” Mags asks, trying to speak above the escalating voices.

“Enough!” Grace snaps. “It’s clear that each of you will get at least one park! I was going to explain that I’ve done some scouting. To make up for the lack in a sixth unoccupied park, the options are this: Galactic Zone is by far the largest of the outer parks. Whoever occupies that one will only get that park along with some other smaller areas of interest.” 

“That sounds hardly –“ Nisha begins, but Grace is quick to cut her off.

“The other option, is that once all parks are reclaimed that Nuka Town becomes a sixth park gifted. That means that two of you will have to relocate to whichever parks you take over.” 

“Not going to happen,” Mason says. “Got too much settled in the zoo to put it somewhere else.”

“As much as I hate to agree with you, I do. I’d rather not part with the Parlor.” Mags says.

“And we’re not leaving the mountain.” Nisha states just as stubbornly. 

“Then that matter is settled at least. In which case, one of you will get the Galactic Zone along with the Red Rocket settlement here,” Grace says while marking the map. “It’s not a park, but it’s well located and has some good resources.” 

Nisha scoffs. “That hardly seems worth it.” 

“Gage has also suggested plans to put outposts in the Commonwealth outside the park. Whoever takes the one park and the settlement also gets the first couple of outposts.” Grace says. 

“Now that sounds doable.” William says. Mags and Mason nod in agreement. Nisha does not.

“You expect us to give up power here and stretch our people thin in order make up for the lack of park space here?” Nisha replies. 

Grace’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t like it, you and the Disciples are free to pass on the option.”

“It honestly does not sound like a bad deal.” Mags replies, looking at the map. “The Operators are really only interested in the bottling plant anyway. And it’s closer to the Red Rocket as well as the roads back to the Commonwealth.” Her eyes dart towards Nisha. “And we have plenty of people who can handle being stationed there. They can follow orders.”

“That can be arranged.” Grace replies quickly. Mags grins across from her, but Nisha still stands on edge.

“In which case, the Disciples still want Dry Rock Gulch,” she says from under her metal helmet. “As well as the Galatic Zone.” 

“Now hold on,” Mason snaps next to her. “You only want the Galatic Zone because she said it was the biggest. You already said you wanted Kiddie Kingdom.”

“And you said you wanted it as well.” Nisha replies. “So you’re free to take it, unless you only want your zoo in the safari.” 

Children, Grace thinks as her teeth grind, I’m dealing with children. She pulls out a sharpie as they continue to bicker and begins to draw. “The Operators will get the World of Refreshment, the Red Rocket, and a couple of settlements in the Commonwealth, are we in agreement?” 

The others shut up as she starts to speak. “Yes,” Mags replies as her brother nods behind her. 

“Excellent.” Grace states. “The Pack will get the Safari Adventure, along with which other park?” 

“Excuse me –“ Nisha starts but Grace has reached the end of her patience. 

“You’ve made your opinions very clear, Nisha. I’m asking Mason for what the Pack wants.” 

It does not escape Grace’s attention the way Mags grins ever so slightly. As for Nisha, Grace cannot see the scowl in her eyes, but it is written clearly in the lines of her mouth. 

“The Pack,” Mason says with a grin a mile wide as Nisha fumes in her seat, “would like Kiddie Kingdom as well as the Safari.”

Nisha quickly says, “What was the point of fighting th-“ 

“Done,” Grace quickly says above the other woman’s voice. “The Pack gets Kiddie Kingdom and Safari Adventure. That leaves the Disciples Dry Rock Gulch and the Galatic Zone.” She marks the map up. “Now, was there anything else you needed to bring to my attention?” 

Those gathered just shake their heads and mutter “no.” 

“Then we’re done. Thanks for coming, you’re all free to go.” Grace states and gestures to the lift behind them. 

She watches them go, with Gage still at her back. He speaks only once the lift is out of view. “You handled that rather well.” He says. “Better than how I thought that diplomatic shit would go.” 

“I just figured it was worth settling now, before it becomes a problem later.” She replies. She starts to fish another cigarette out of the weathered carton in her pocket. Gage coughs at her side, so she offers him one, which he takes. 

“I don’t disagree,” he says as he uses his own lighter. “Though Boss, just a bit of friendly advice, watch how you talk to Nisha.” 

She hums in response. “I noticed.” 

“Just saying you’re not doing yourself any favors by getting on her bad side. Trust me, the woman has a temper as fierce as a Deathclaw’s. I’ve seen it.”

“I believe you,” she replies as she gets her own cigarette to light. They smoke in peace for a moment before she asks, “The Disciples were Colter’s favorites, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Gage admits. “He loved their bunch.” 

“I figured, since they’re at home in the mountain he slept in.” She replies. “I don’t think they’re used to not being the favorite child.” 

Gage chuckles slightly. “Nah, I don’t reckon they like it at all.”

Grace thinks, looking out the window towards Nuka Town proper. “Tomorrow I’ll get started clearing out their parks. If I take care of them first it will get them off my case.” She exhales a long stream of smoke. “And here’s hoping that they’ll like being put first again enough to not cause trouble.”


	4. Companion At The Ol' Gulch

Grace makes a note of the clue in her pip-boy before taking the glasses off and folding them into the pocket of her duster. The glasses are utterly ridiculous. But Grace recognized that nutty woman from the Capital: Sierra Petrovita. She still remembered that ridiculous museum in Girdershade, and remembered shooting that creepy neighbor of hers before leaving the small settlement. Charon had not exactly approved, though he had not openly said anything against her action either. 

Now it seemed that Sierra neither recognized nor remembered her, a small fact that Grace was somewhat happy about. Otherwise she might’ve asked why Grace never brought those bottles of soda or any kind of comment about her past. Three Dog had a lot of stories about the trouble she got into, not all of them were properly reported either.

However, when Sierra had approached her in Nuka Town with the idea of completing the old contest, Grace had accepted the job. Grace was mostly on the scavenger hunt for the reward she’d promised along with her own curiosity. There had to be something worthwhile in the still sealed office of the owner of the park. 

The glasses were snug in her duster pocket; which was covered in dirt and blood, though not her own. The bloodworms had given her quite the scare when a handful of them had burst out of the Brahmiluffs’ stomachs. Truly, it was disgusting. She had picked a chunk of carnage – Brahmiluff or Bloodworm, she didn’t want to know - out of her hair as Gage had laughed.

Speaking of, Gage was somewhere behind her, digging through the contents of a storage room she had unlocked with the key she’d pulled off a settler’s corpse. Seemed that a handful of the poor bastards had run to the mine cart ride when the raiders showed up in Nuka Town only to end up as worm food.

“Anything good?” Grace calls to him, unafraid of keeping her voice down. They’d already killed the brood mother and her young.

“Bunch of ammo.” He calls back. “Not much else, boss.” He comes back from the room handing her a box of .45 ammo for her rifle. Grace nods and deposits it in her pocket. Together they continue their sweep through the building now that they aren’t under the threat of bloodworms popping up at any second. Her pip-boy hasn’t picked up on any other life signs besides their own.

Grace thinks they have a good thing going so far. Gage doesn’t ask her for shit: He doesn’t order her around and doesn’t tell her how to do her job. The only time he comes close is when he to gives advice in regards to the gangs, which he does when asked and never in front of the gang leaders themselves. Something Grace appreciates, considering she knows that Overboss is little more than an empty title, he could’ve talked over her like everyone else always did.

But he didn’t. He let her make her decisions and run her mouth as she liked. It didn’t even seem like he was talking behind her back to them; which wouldn’t have surprised her either. He’d done so to get rid of Colter, it wasn’t that farfetched to think he wasn’t doing the same with her. Except he has been at her side for the past two days helping her clear out Dry Rock Gulch. He’d said both their asses were on the line. For once it seemed that someone was willing to put in the work to help her pull it off. Everyone else up to this point had sent her off to fix the messes they’d made, so this was at least a nice change of pace. 

And on the road, Gage usually opened his mouth to give snarky comments on their current surroundings with far more frequency than she had expected with his original “get down to business” attitude when she’d first met him. Grace at least appreciates the sense of humor; they had both tried to outdo the other with increasingly bad western accents as they worked through Sheriff Hawk’s little quests. As for fighting, their styles meshed quite well. Gage was good with his automatic and Grace was happy to use her combat rifle. Standing side-by-side firing on bloodworms, ants, and stingwings reminded her of the early days with Charon.

Gage was just chattier than her old ghoul companion had been.

_She never did find out what happened to him and Dogmeat after 87._

She ignores the thought. She knows it’s less than helpful to focus on the past when there is nothing she can do to change it. She spent too many nights losing sleep over all that past shit.

She collects the park token from the dispenser on her way out of the mine. She does it only out of curiosity for NIRA’s modified response when she’ll hand over a full set. The coin goes in her pocket too, right next to the plastic glasses. They walk back out into the light of day. “I’m never getting the stench of bloodworm guts out of this.” She says, brushing more shriveled pink flesh from her duster. If it even is bloodworm, she thinks.

“There’s spare gear back in Nuka Town,” Gage replies, lighting a cigarette. “Make you look more the part and less like Shank.” 

Grace gives a light snort. “I don’t look anything like Shank.” 

“Not much in the face, but your get up is mighty similar.” Gage replies. “It’s hard to tell the two of you apart from behind.” 

“Oh is that why I keep catching you staring at my ass?” She replies. Switching back to her terrible accent she continues, “No need to ogle my ass when I don’t even have his hat, partner.” 

Gage laughs. A good bark of laughter and Grace smirks back. “Just keepin’ an eye out for your six.” He says, trying to recover. 

“Yeah, _sure_ ,” Grace replies, but with a lightness to her words. “But you think it would be a good idea to show off their colors? I figured keeping the duster was good for looking neutral.” 

“Yeah, boss.” Gage replies, tone switching back to second-in-command seriousness. “It doesn’t hurt to show the guys you’re settling in and being part of them.” 

“Just have to make sure I don’t look too much like any one gang.” Grace replies, thinking about it. “Don’t want anyone getting ideas that I’m playing favorites or being mistaken for some low rung pup.” 

“We’ll figure something out for you.” He says. “’sides, it’ll be good to get you situated with some better armor. That duster is making you eat way too many stims.” 

Grace hums her agreement. She can’t exactly argue with that. Her current outfit is good for sneaking around, staying warm in the cold spells, and for not attracting unwanted attention when she scavenged the remains of Boston. Not much of that seems necessary in Nuka World.

They split up again, going through the street stalls. They know that the Disciples will do the real scavenging and pay tribute, but they might as well help themselves to any top quality goodies they find first. 

“Found a safe over here, boss,” Gage calls from across the main street of the town. The same one where she’d had that shoot out with the Protectron yesterday; its steel carcass is still slumped in the center of the street. It wasn’t quite her fault that one too many laser shots had frustrated her. Gage had laughed when she’d shot the dome head full of holes: “You’ve gone and shot ‘em dead. Yee haw!” They’d both laughed at his terrible accent as she pried the safe code from the bot’s lifeless hands. 

Grace leaves the cash register of the street game she’d decided to investigate to make her way over to the kiosk Gage had chosen. He steps out of her way to give her room to work. Gage is good at many things, however he is not so good at picking locks or hacking terminals; go figure.

Grace at least makes up for what he isn’t so great at. She pulls the screwdriver from her belt and bobby pin from her pocket and settles down to work. She can feel Gage’s gaze flick back to her as he pretends to watch the surrounding street for more burrowing bugs or ants. She doesn’t let his watching eye bother her. She twists the pin and tests the lock. She stops as soon as she feels the resistance beginning to pinch at the pin. She resets, adjusts the pin, and tries again. She feels the lock give before she hears the click of the lock’s release.

The safe swings open and Grace grins. This was her bread and butter before Nuka World. Old office safes with all kinds of pre-war goodies stuffed inside. Mostly stuff that Myrna would pay good caps for. This one happens to contain some .308 ammo, some cash, a few bottles of Nuka-Wild, and a western revolver. She holds the gun out, “You want the gun?” 

Gage looks over, eyes the revolver, and settles for saying, “Nah.” His finger taps against his own gun, handmade and very well maintained. It’s put together better than regular pipe pistols from what Grace can see too. So Grace shrugs and sticks the revolver in the back of her pants. It’s not much her style; she's not a fan of fumbling with reloading ammo when it's not in a clip. Bus she can still sell it at the market when she gets back to Nuka Town. In its current condition it’ll be worth a decent amount of caps.

“You’re not bad at that lock pick thing, boss.” Gage says as she stands. “Where’d you learn to have such nimble fingers?”

“Broke into the liquor cabinet quite a few times when I was younger,” Grace admits. She had picked the lock to the Overseer’s liquor cabinet with Amata acting as lookout quite a few times in her teens. From there the wasteland had honed the skill.

Gage nods, a small smile on his lips. “Always found it much easier to take than ask.” 

He knows where she comes from. Some of it at least. He had asked after the pip-boy on her wrist one evening in Fizztop as they spoke about plans for the parks. She had admitted to being a vault dweller, the rest she kept close to her chest. He didn’t need to know her whole damn life story. 

Most assumed “vault dweller” was synonymous with “weakling” and “naive.” Sometimes it put her at an advantage, not telling people how long it had been since she left 101. Experience had taught her that she could learn a lot by playing dumb sometimes. Gage didn’t seem to make that mistake. He had shrugged at the information and gone back to the map on the counter.

For now Grace smirks. “Come on, let’s go plant a flag on this shitty western town.”


	5. Galactic Headaches

If she ignores the throbbing headache and the robotic remains littering the ground around her, the Galatic Zone isn’t exactly the worst place she’s camped for a night. If she ignores the rotting trash and the automated announcements on the park speakers looping through the same handful of memos every ten minutes; then yeah, it’s almost one of the nicer nightmares she’s camped in.

Judging by the way Gage’s fingers flex, he seems just as irritated as she does. After the Vault-Tec display of bullshit they both have reason. For Grace it is a pounding headache and a strong desire to shoot something: to rip apart more shitty robots. She doesn’t know how Gage fared from the gas and mind altering frequencies – because of course Vault-Tec would do that – except that he has been slipping between moods of irritable and overly talkative over the last hour. 

So neither of them handled the shittiest ride in the park particularly well. It’s a thought that’s at least somewhat comforting to Grace. Misery loves company and all that shit.

And she has lived through quite a lot of misery. 

Gage reaches in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He turns to offer her one, which she gladly accepts after finishing her pack earlier in the day. She’ll take anything to dull the awful that surrounds her in this shitty excuse for an amusement park. ' _Amusement Park_ ,' who’s amusement exactly? Because it’s certainly not hers. 

She lights the stale cigarette on the campfire between them, it’s easier than messing with her lighter.

“You’re right, this place sure as hell seems bigger than the rest.” Gage says after a long drag on his own cigarette. Perhaps slipping into another talkative mood, she wonders. It's better than listening to the loudspeakers.

“It’s the walkways,” Grace replies, trying to keep the sharpness from her tone. Trying not to grind her jaw to mimic the pounding in her head. “The upper levels add a lot of space.” 

“The walls are good too.” Gage replies, looking out at the entrance to the park. Silently, Grace agrees. It’s an excellent bottleneck if anyone stupid enough to attack attempts an assault on the park. It’s what cost those traders their lives: dead just outside the gate, unable to put enough distance between themselves and the park’s robotic sentinels. 

Grace nods and hums around her cigarette. She has enough of those star cores to make the park inhabitable. At least, she thinks she does. She can’t be sure until she gets to work installing them, which will be taking up her time tomorrow. 

She sure as hell can’t focus on them with the jackhammer inside her skull.

“You know, boss,” Gage starts. “I’ve been meaning to say, I had my doubts about you – being a vaultie and all – but you’re really quite a natural at this.”

Grace shrugs. “Took a while, but I learn. Kinda have to, I wouldn’t have lived so long if I hadn’t. Figure it’s the same for you, just like everyone else.” 

Gage nods. “I learned pretty young myself. Grew up watching my parents bend to the whim of every asshole that came to the farm with a gun. I was ten when I decided to ditch.”

Grace takes a drag off the cigarette and absently scratches at the scars long her cheek. “I was 19 when I left the Vault,” she gives. “What’d you do after ditching your parents?” 

“I worked a bunch of odd jobs at settlements,” Gage replies. “Shitty jobs, you know? But everywhere I went the raiders would come, point at what they wanted, and they’d get it.”

“Not much changes in that regard,” Grace agrees.

“Yep, so eventually I joined them. It made the most sense then and it still does now. This world is trying to kill us, so I figured I might as well fight back.” 

“The world went to hell and people will drag you right down with it.” Grace replies. “That took me longer to learn, but the world beat it into me eventually.” 

“That other operation you mentioned?” Gage asks.

Grace nods. “Yeah, among other things.” She takes another long drag off the cigarette held between her pointer and middle fingers, her eyes staring back at him from across the fire. She taps her foot, feels the itch to move. But she stays seated. “You know I still tried to work those shitty odd jobs before coming here,” she finally says after a moment’s pause.

“Yeah?” Gage says expectantly.

Grace replies, “After the other op I tried working as a trader, a scaver. I’d comb old world ruins for shit people needed in the larger settlements and I’d take whatever shitty caps they tossed at me. Before that I was a Caravan guard, worst fuckin’ job. I quit that one after my first – and last – circuit.” 

Gage chuckles. “Raiders are attracted to Caravans like a bloatfly to Brahmin shit.” 

“Exactly,” Grace says with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Raiders, Gunners, fuckin’ Deathclaws too. Though that’s probably from the Brahmin.”

When she first left 101 she’d spent the better part of the year trying to fix as many problems as she saw. People were quick to take her up on her offers and slower to help her in return. It didn’t take long for the tragedies to start: Greyditch and Tennpenny tower. But she still didn’t learn, not until Wernher and the Pitt. 

Even then she still went back for more.

But here people don’t expect her to do anything without being paid in return. The Disciples’ first tribute chest was proof of that. Over the past week it’s hard to imagine herself as the same woman who wiped out Paradise Falls. But she is, and honestly, she’d do it again. Though she needn’t tell Gage about that.

“Where was that other operation of yours?” Gage asks after a long while.

“The Pitt,” Grace admits. “Shit hole to the south.”

“No shit,” Gage replies, eyebrow raised. “I’ve heard stories from out of there. Seen a few guys who got out too.” 

“It’s a shit hole, like I said.” Grace shrugs, but the words leave her lips harder than she’d intended. It kills the conversation. Reflexively, her fingers ghost along the scars on her cheek again. 

She finishes the cigarette and then it’s back to listening to the same memos on the loudspeakers.

* * *

_Grace didn’t get the first caravan out of the Pitt. Because it didn’t come. It wasn’t days, it was weeks before she crawled her way back out and began the journey north._

_An increase in rad storms had swept in and rained down hard on them all that week. Late summer rains, but it was too much too fast. There were days they could not leave Haven due to the flooding of the river. Worse than the flooding, the weather brought what was in the air down to the ground._

_It had not failed her notice that people were getting sick; sicker and faster than usual. More workers were succumbing to the infection that hangs oppressively around the Pitt. Some went Trog, others were shot before they mutated further. Even the raiders of Uptown weren’t safe from the sickness that plagued them all._

_Far too often for comfort she was reminded of Midea’s words: “But congratulations, your petty sentimentality has doomed us to continued slavery and pestilence. Thanks.” She can still hear her ghost sneer. Personally, Grace doubts that either Midea or Wernher could’ve possibly found the cure faster than Sandra._

_And even Sandra could only do so much with her knowledge and scrapped together lab._

_Because at the end of the day Ashur was sick. Among many things, it had not escaped her notice that the Lord of the Pitt was growing sicker by the day. The patch of sickly, flaky skin on his neck had spread. It had crawled its way up the left side of his face and was poking from under his sleeves on both his hands. He relied on the power armor more and more with each passing day, not only for the protection but to help keep him mobile. Worse was that while everyone could see it, he refused to believe it._

_He stood tall in the power armor with his head held high, as if he would not fall to the ground the moment the rig failed him. He spoke as though wracking coughs were not his punctuation. He carried a gun, confident that the power armor would not betray the tremble in his hands. He walked around Haven as if years in the Pitt were not finally rearing its ugly head._

_Most days Sandra and Ashur argue while Grace maintains the power armor in the room adjacent. Nothing Sandra has come up with from Marie has worked. Over and over Sandra argues that they should leave and come back when they have it figured out, Ashur will not abandon his city._

_His city: as though he has a city left._

_The other lieutenants and raiders mumble among themselves. Over several days some try to grab at power and hang from the rafters of Downtown. The Lord of the Pitt may be sick, but that shit still won’t fly. The workers who rebelled were all put in the ground, it is no different for the raiders._

_Within the span of days, disciplinary action isn’t just disciplinary anymore. It’s a show of power, a warning, to keep the others in line._

_Grace toes that line with a wrench in hand. She keeps her head buried in power armor repair, but even she isn’t blind to the storms of change._

_They’re losing numbers. There are barely enough workers to keep the Mill going. Now they barely have enough people in Uptown to keep guard of the city and keep people in line. Especially when the raiders themselves won’t stay in line either._

_After the rains, Grace notices that the caravans visit less frequently. Until trade trickles to nothing. People will not risk their health to brave the city. Even Quinn from Underworld stops making the long journey. Their steel is no longer worth it. Truth be told, they’re not producing enough of it either._

_The Pitt was bad before the first time she walked through the gate. It’s only gotten worse since her second, reluctantly extended visit. Grace wants to kick herself; she knew she never should’ve come back._

_It’s still not the worst that’s happened._

_She knew them the moment she heard them. Others took cover for fear of more rain, but it was not thunder rolling into the Pitt. Grace knows the sound of vertibirds._

* * *

“You’re right,” she finally breaks the silence. As if their conversation hasn’t been over for a long stretch of minutes.

Gage looks at her, puzzled. “‘bout what?”

“That none of it really matters,” she replies, hard eyes looking at the fire. “The world is trying to kill us and those shitty settlements don’t matter. The only thing that does is what you can carve out for yourself in this hellhole of a world.” 

Gage nods. “Everyone’s got that vision, Boss. But it’s more than that, we know what we gotta do to make it real.”

“Exactly,” Grace gestures, wide and sweeping to everything around them. “You have to take action to make sure it’s yours and it doesn’t blow up in your face.”


	6. Between Claws And A Flooded Place

“I take it all back!” Grace shouts to Gage over her shoulder. Her hand drops from her rifle to the pouch on her belt. “This is the worst fucking park!” She shouts right before she pulls the pin with her teeth and lobs the grenade down the hall. Gage pulls her by the back of her armor and they both take cover behind an alcove of fake buildings.

For a heartbeat she hears the scuttle and splash of the mirelurks racing towards them both before the ear ringing detonation of the grenade.

Were they any normal mirelurks, they would be dead.

Except they’re not normal mirelurks. Raised on a steady diet of whatever the hell is in the blue glow of quantum up to her knees, the mirelurks of the World of Refreshment are a hardier breed than anything else she’s ever encountered. 

And she’s quite familiar with Mirelurks thanks to the Anchorage Memorial and Moira Brown. Moira would’ve been fascinated by these blue glowing bastards, Grace thinks with the ringing in her ears. She probably would have all sorts of questions about their differences to their green glowing cousins. Moira probably would’ve sent her here with that stupid molerat stick. 

Grace would actually take that stick right about now.

“Bullets ain’t doin’ a whole hell of a lot, Boss.” Gage shouts as he shoots a hunter as it begins to foam at the mouth. A brief warning for the incoming spray. 

Grace fumbles with her lighter: click, click, click. Nothing. Of course. 

“Light this!” She shouts, hastily pushing the bottle into the crook of his elbow as she raises her rifle to cover for him. She gives him a moment to fumble with it, to catch it and pull his own lighter. 

She pulls the trigger, watching bullets bounce off the Hunter’s thick shell. Uselessly spent and lost to the river of quantum. The Hunter coats the hallway in acid and she covers her face in the crook of her elbow. Behind her she hears Gage light the Molotov, hears the splash of his footsteps as he moves for visibility.

She raises her head and has a second to watch as it arcs in the air, before erupting and bathing the hallway in shattered glass and flame. She pivots, turns and moves. She starts running back towards the entrance. “Fall back!” she shouts over her shoulder to Gage, who doesn’t protest. 

Outside the tunnel they sprint past the railings that once formed the line to the park. “Load of Brahmin shit!” Grace says, though still winded. 

“Crabs are tougher than the regular lot.” Gage agrees.

Grace takes the bright yellow and pink beanie from her head and runs fingers through her short hair. She feels the slickness in the cotton in her hand and wipes it on her pant leg before it starts to burn the skin on her palm. The hat saved her from the majority of the acid spit, but the material is useless now. She dumps it in a nearby, overflowing trash bin.

Oh well, she didn’t like it much to begin with.

“Should probably cook up some mines to help flush them out. Crippling the legs might work best in our favor too.” She says as she walks, practically fuming. It feels like she’s walking with her tail between her legs. 

Stupid crabs, she thinks and shoots a jumping cricket.

It’s a long walk back to Nuka Town.

* * *

Back in Fizztop, Grace stands in front of the boiler chamber with a flask of oil. Stripped of her armor, working in a ratty old Nuka World t-shirt, she cooks up grenades. Most of the material was easy enough to come by in the marketplace: fertilizer, oil, steel, some baseballs. Turning old, mostly rotting produce into cooking oil for adhesive, well it was just recycling. Waste not want not, and all that shit. 

Probably not what Mr. Brotch expected her to be doing all those days in chemistry class, but the information has served her well. 

She’s corking a baseball grenade and setting the pin when Gage walks through the double doors: hair wet and missing his armor. Grace barely looks up, her eyes only flicking over long enough to recognize him before returning to her delicate task. 

“Geez Boss, you think ya got enough to handle the crabs?” Gage asks, looking at the pile on the counter. 

“Need I remind you that bullets did shit?” She replies. 

Gage snorts, picks up a grenade and examines it. “That grenade of yours didn’t do much either.” 

“I’m hoping multiple will have a more positive effect.” Except even Grace doesn’t really believe it. Truth is, she doesn’t know what to do about the infestation in the bottling plant. Worse was that she had scouted the Queen nesting in the back. How was she supposed to handle that when she couldn’t even make a dent in the smaller ones?

Gage places the grenade back on the counter. He runs his hand through his short hair. Grace can see the little mist of water that rises from his tightly curled Mohawk as his fingers brush past.

Catching herself staring, she asks, “How was the shower?”

“Felt good to get the acid off.” Gage replies, shrugging his shoulders. “Not looking forward to getting in the crab’s faces again.” 

“You and me both.” Grace replies, turning back to the chemicals on the table.

* * *

Grace lobs the baseball down the hall, ducks behind a wall and ejects the clip from the rifle. Efficiently she locks in the fresh clip on the brightly painted rifle. She’ll have to find a way to thank Mason somehow, his gun is proving quite effective against the blue glowing bastards.

The detonation rocks the hallway, sending debris and shell bits flying, and she comes back out shooting.

While she shoots straggling survivors, Gage emerges from cover to rush up and pull a grenade off her belt – pulling the pin in the same fluid motion – and arching it deeper down the hall than Grace’s had. Effectively it catches a second wave of the mirelurks, crippling some legs in the process. Side by side, together they shoot.

It’s going so well until they reach the backrooms and the biggest threat suddenly isn’t the glowing mirelurks. 

“Assaultrons!” Grace shouts in warning as the glow of a fully charged laser sweeps the room. Gage drops faster than her, swiping out her feet and sending her to the floor in time as the laser cooks the metal table to their backs. 

“You alright?” he asks, not really looking as his eye sweeps the side where approaching metal footprints are coming. 

“Yeah,” Grace grits out through clenched teeth. There’s a pain in her shoulder, but she doesn’t have time to worry about it now. The best time to strike is right after those metal bastards have fired. She raises her rifle and empties the remainder of the clip into the torso: ripping into metal until the bot drops.

She starts to stand when a hand grips her by the arm. Firm enough to halt her, not not enough to hurt. “Shit,” she hears Gage say. His tone has her hand rising to prod at her shoulder and that’s when it hits her: a wave of raw pain and the smell of burnt flesh. 

Gage fishes out a stimpack and jabs the needle into the upper part of her arm. “Take a minute,” he says, finger tapping his gun. “I got us covered.” 

Grace nods and takes a deep, steadying breath as she waits for the miracle drug to kick in. Through the adrenaline she can feel her skin tightening around the wound as her cells regenerate. The feeling never stops being bizarre. 

After a few minutes she rises to her feet, clicking the safety off the rifle. The job is a long way off from done. She pats the bag on her belt and feels the clink of what she hopes will be the solution to her bigger problem. She knows she still has a Queen to clear out.

* * *

The muddy pool of water is freezing. It would feel good on the fresh acid burns from the Queen’s spit, except she’s preoccupied with finding Gage in the murky water. The King had pounced on him from out of nowhere. She barely saw it drag him down before she was running into the water after him.

There are still bubbles, he isn’t dead yet. 

She hadn’t shot because she hadn’t trusted herself enough to not hit Gage. She didn’t hesitate to wade in after him though.

Fortunately, as she got close, the King reemerged to stand at full height and flare gills at her. It opened its mouth lined with razor teeth to screech, sending her sideways as she raised the rifle. She squeezed the trigger: letting the automatic gun spray bullets at the glowing blue hide. 

Then it was floating in the water, mixing with mirelurk guts and acid. Gage still hadn’t emerged – she dove in. Her hand grabbed the cage armor around his chest and she pulled. Bringing him up to the surface and he wasn’t moving. 

There was far too much red around the torn remnants of his green shirt that was his. 

With a vicious curse she dragged him. Pulling and using the water to carry the bulk of his weight. She dragged him to shore, pulled a stimpak and jammed it into his chest. While that began to knit back together she pinched his nose, brought her lips to his mouth and breathed in. She traced her fingers to the point where his ribs came together, put her hands there as her father had taught her all those years ago and started compressions. 

She switched between breathing and compressions a few more times. “Come on Gage,” she shouted, hands on his chest. “You got me into this, you can’t just die on me!” 

She switched, bringing her lips back to his for another breath when his eye snapped open. He coughed muddy water into her mouth, sending them both coughing and spitting. 

“The fuck?” Gage asked.

Grace spit into the dirt. “You’re welcome.” She replied running the back of her hand over her mouth. 

With a hand on his chest he looked down to see the blood. “Shit,” he said as his head fell back to the mud.

“Yeah,” Grace replied, leaning back to sit more comfortably on her knees. 

“Think that was the last of them?” Gage asked.

“I sure hope so.” Grace replied. They sat for a few more minutes, catching breath and waiting for wounds to heal. When Gage starts to sit up, Grace gets to her feet and offers him a hand. “Ready to plant a flag?” She asks as she helps her second in command stand.

“The sooner we’re done with this place, the better.” 

They take their time walking up the catwalks of the exterior. 

“When did you cook up plasma mines?” Gage asks. 

“I didn’t. They were from the Gunner nest on the highway we cleared.” Grace replies. 

“Ah, that’s why you wanted to clear them out.” 

“Yeah,” Grace replies. “Well, they were also close to the Red Rocket so it was really a two birds one stone thing.” 

On the lift she pulls the Operator’s Flag from her pack. She’s tying it to the pole when Gage clears his throat. “Uh, Boss, about earlier,” Gage starts.

Grace shakes her head, returning to the flag. “Don’t mention it. You got my back, I got yours Gage.” 

“You and me, Boss.” Gage replied.

“Damn right.”


	7. The House Call

It started with Grace doing what she always did: hauling debris and junk to a workbench to see if it was worth salvaging. The Black siblings had sent a handful of underlings to help make the old Red Rocket fit for habitation. The first day was eaten up by dismantling nearly everything down to the bare bones of the old car garage. The following day they started to build up from the skeletal bones of the building. 

By the fifth day things were looking more than halfway decent.

There were designated sleeping areas, look-out posts and a rotation of the guard. Since the Red Rocket faced the old Gunner’s outpost, Grace felt it was important to be prepared in case a new group decided to move into the overpass. 

Grace had hauled several mangled assaultrons and protectrons from the World of Refreshment over to the old gas station. The old garage had a few handy tools that allowed her to salvage the bots. Of the six robotic carcasses she had, only two were fit for operation. She had plugged her pip-boy into them and had typed away a modified code; reminding her of the old days. 

She programmed the two bots for farming of all fucking things.

“Would you rather do it yourself?” She asked an Operator underling who looked at the bot with a doubtful scowl.

He shook his head and uttered a low, “No, boss.” 

So at the end of the day, Robco’s greatest in security became the greatest in tato and corn farming.

Work continued, the garage continued to get built up as the Operators set up a distillery and chem bench. Grace was in the middle of repairing an old speaker for RedEye’s raider radio when Mags arrived.

“You look like you actually know what you’re doing,” Mags said as a way of greeting.

“That’s because I do.” Grace replies, standing up and wiping her hands on the thigh part of her pants. Dirt and grime smeared into the fabric of her pants, the ones the Disciples were so fond of wearing. “Do you like how the place is turning out?” 

Mags gave a cursory glance around the interior of the garage. Then she gave a small hum, “It’s better than I expected, Overboss.”

“Glad to hear I continue to surpass expectation.” Grace replied. She wants something, she decided. “Though forgive me if I feel that this visit is for more than just an inspection.” 

She leaned back against the workbench, crossing her feet at the ankle and the metal Operators armor on her legs gave a light clink.

Mags gave a light chuckle. “Straight to business, that’s what I like about you, Overboss.” 

The corners of Grace’s lips curled upward. “Figured this was a business call. Though I will admit I’m curious why we’re having this conversation here and not at the Parlor.” 

“I figured I could check out the place and get a word in with you, two birds one stone.” Mags replied. “I have a task that might pique your interest.” 

“What kind of task are we talking about?”

“A supply train of ours was hit and forced to dig in to protect the goods. I’d like you to go and ensure their survival.” 

Grace can feel her eyes narrow. So much for a poker face. “That sounds more like a job for your people than it is for me. I still have parks to clear.” 

“I thought you’d say that,” Mags replied, trailing a hand over a discarded leg of an assaultron. “However, I’d like you to handle it. You see, usually when a supply train is hit I send another squad to go settle the matter. It’s been two days, I haven’t heard back from the second group. William and I are in agreement, we think one of the other gangs may be involved. If that’s the case, then it’s your job to settle the matter.” 

“That’s quite an accusation, Mags.” Grace replies carefully. She watches as Mags leans against the workbench as well, her back to the rest of the room as her arms support her weight. It gives Grace a full view of her curves that her armor isn’t obscuring. “Do you have any proof that it’s the Disciples or the Pack?” 

“I’m hoping you’ll find the proof. Otherwise, it was a lack of competence on my people and I’ll apologize accordingly.” Her nails drum on the metal of the bot, as she looks over to Grace. Her eyes are bluer than they are hazel, Grace notes.

After the short pause Grace replies, “Where were your people hit?” 

“A small house in the Weston area. It’s not far from the transit center, you should be able to make it there and back within a day.” Mags replies.

Grace nods, “Alright, I’ll go settle the issue.”

“Thank you, Overboss. I knew I could count on you.” Mags replies, the corners of her mouth curling ever so slightly. “When you get back we can discuss your reward at the Parlor. I look forward to seeing you there and having the issue settled.” She turns and begins to slowly walk to the door of the garage.

“Your wish is my command,” Grace replies. Instantly she wants to bite her own tongue.

Mags chuckles. “Careful with who you say that to,” she replies, turning back to look at Grace. “Someone might just take advantage of an offer like that.” She winks then turns, walking out of the garage. Grace watches her go, watches the sway of her hips – accentuated by the armor – and then lets out a long sigh.

This is how she gets herself into trouble. 

Gage walks through the door from the main store into the garage. “Hey Boss, think this could be useful or should we scrap it down?” He asks, walking across the room with some metal in his hand. “Wait, is that Mags?” He asks, noticing Mags walking back towards Nuka Town not too far away.

“Mmm-hmm.” Grace replies. 

“What’d she want?” Gage asks, lowering his voice. 

“She has some extra work for us.” Grace replies, running a hand through her greasy hair. 

“Extra work? What kind of extra work?” Gage asks. Grace can already see the gears turning in his head, it’s why she likes him.

“A supply train was hit in the Commonwealth. We’re going to wipe out whatever or whoever is causing trouble with it.” Grace replies, setting down her tools on the bench next to the speaker. It’ll have to wait until she comes back.

Gage stares for a minute. “That’s not work for us, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Grace replies. “It’s more of a test than anything. She thinks it could be the other gangs making a move on them. If it is, it’s my job to sort it out.”

Gage doesn’t reply right away, takes the moment to think as Grace packs the work bench. “Fuck.” 

Grace laughs. “Yeah.” 

“Seriously, this can go wrong in a dozen different ways. If it’s a power struggle then –“

“I know, Gage. Let’s go find out what we’re actually dealing with before we make assumptions. Worst case scenario, it’s one of the other gangs. If it is, we’ll deal with it then. If not, then we worried over a hell of a lot of nothing.” Grace replies.

“Don’t hurt to be prepared for the worst if that’s what we find when we get there.” Gage remarks.

“Yeah, I know. The train will give us time to think it over though.” Grace replies, walking out of the garage. She pulls a cigarette out of her pocket. It’s a bit of a walk to the train station. 

“Fuck, the Pack isn’t going to be pleased that we’re not clearing out their parks yet.” Gage says, following from behind.

“Oh, I know,” Grace replies. “And if it turns out to be the Pack causing the problem, we’re going to have an even bigger problem.”

“Yeah,” Gage replies. “Aw fuck.”

* * *

_She watches as several soldiers step off the vertibird. Their squad leader, a Palidin judging by the reddish bands on his Power armor, barks orders as they hit the pavement._

_Ashur barks his own orders, suiting into his own rig. He demands his lieutenants follow, calls for everyone to assemble into their positions to hold the building._

_He pulls Grace aside, “If this goes pear shaped, get Sandra and Marie to safety. That’s an order.” He says with an iron grip on her arm._

_Even behind the steady metal frame she can hear the shakiness to his voice, can see it in his eyes. But she holds his gaze, notes the tinge of yellow around his iris, and says, “Of course sir.”_

_Satisfied he lets go. He marches down the hall, shouting orders at guards as they scramble into position. Grace remains close at his heel as Duke joins them, flanking Ashur’s right side. Duke only recently became a lieutenant: Krenshaw has been hanging from the gaudy metal statue outside Haven for three and a half days. Ashur finally got sick of the questions and challenges to authority by his former second-in-command._

_Grace knows that besides the show Ashur is trying to put on, they don’t have enough people to hold the Pitt. There are barely enough workers, and more raiders have been hanging from the rafters these days than ever before. Between sickness and insubordination, they’ve lost too many people to hold onto what they have._

_Grace knows the Brotherhood is better armed, better prepared if they’re serious about taking the Pitt._

_The walk across the courtyard is long._

* * *

Grace crouches behind a hubflower bush near the last known location of the Operators. The ruins of an old house that has two openings: a hole blasted through the side and a white door on the opposite end that’s swaying open in the breeze. The surrounding area is quiet, but Grace isn’t lulled into a sense of calm. She knows better.

She looks at her pip-boy, lets it scan for life signs and four signals ping inside the house.

Judging by the way they slowly pace her screen, they’re probably not ghouls or the regular wildlife. The movements are too controlled and don’t appear random. That leaves mutants and raiders. Personally, she hopes its mutants. Less to worry about that way.

She hands Gage a grenade. “Let’s flush them out.” 

He nods, a neutral look in his eye. Grace can read it: its trouble, the kind that doesn’t sit right. Privately, she agrees.

They split up, each of them taking the separate entrances to the decrepit ruins of the house. Grace pulls her pin, launches it through the door frame. Then trains her gun on the door and waits.

The blast rocks the house’s foundation. “What the fuck?!” What shouts in surprise and agony doesn’t sound like mutants. Grace sighs, her job just got a whole lot harder. 

By the time Gage’s grenade goes off and some part of the house collapses, the people inside have figured out what’s happening. Two of them race out Grace’s entrance, and the sight doesn’t please her. Raider armor: standard warped metal and grey long johns. 

Grace snipes the first with her rifle. There is a burst of red painting the other person and part of the door frame as the body drops limp to the ground. The other raider fires blindly as Grace lines up her shot. She puts two bullets into the raider’s chest and watches as they drop. Grace rushes, runs up and kicks the raider’s gun from their grasp. “Move so much as a finger and your head won’t be on your shoulders anymore.” Grace says, teeth bared. She can hear Gage shooting in the distance. 

The raider at her feet nods, grabbing at the wound in his chest and groaning.

Then it’s quiet. “Gage?” Grace calls. Silence. “Gage report!”

“Drop the gun.” It’s not Gage who answers. “I said, drop the gun!” The voice repeats. Grace looks up, can just see boots on person standing on the remains of the second floor, but doesn’t get a look at the rest of him. When Grace doesn’t comply or respond, there is a familiar whirling sound.

Grace jumps to the right, kneels with her back against the wall, as bullets pelt the wood and spray past the door frame. They have a fucking minigun, Grace thinks in the limited moment she has. She looks to her right, she’s blocked herself in with the porch railing. If she makes a run for it, there’s a chance they’ll shoot her through the window. 

“Looks like the Blacks didn’t send other Operators this time.” The voice says as the gun’s scream comes to a crawl. “If it’s just two people they sent, maybe they’re not so serious after all.”

Fucker, Grace thinks with her teeth clenched. She’d love to drop another grenade on him, but she doesn’t know where Gage is. Although if Gage is dead – 

She doesn’t get to finish the thought as the minigun whirls up and another spray pelts the wall behind her. It won’t hold for much longer, she needs to move. 

Grace pivots and stands, dives across the balcony and hops over the railing. She’s only slightly faster than the raider as the minigun’s aim arks, shattering the glass in its path. 

Grace can feel something clip her shoulder – hear it _ping_ and bounce off her armor. But Grace is gone. She runs, round the side of the house and skids on the dirt.

She looks, one raider is on the ground and what she sees makes her grind her teeth tighter. She knows who wears those fucking masks. A noise brings her from her anger – a grunt – and looking over she can see Gage lying in the grass curled up on himself. 

Grace takes one step forward in his direction but stops short when she hears the minigun rev back up. She ducks back behind the wall and waits for the spray to stop.

After a minute the gun's scream slows and the hail of bullets lets up. She hears footsteps approaching from the house. “I thought Disciples preferred knives.” She shouts.

“Yeah,” the voice says back. 

“So what’s with the minigun?” Grace asks, trying to buy time. Think Rivera, think. There's not much she can do on the outside of the house.

“Who says I’m a Disciple?” the voice asks. Grace pulls the knife from her belt, holds it backwards in her left hand and waits on the edge of the house. She can hear the foot steps approaching closer to the opening.

“So, who are you then?” Grace asks. “Let’s talk business.” 

“Business?” the voice laughs. “There’s no negotiating among raiders. We take what we want, when we want because our guns are better than the other guy’s.” 

Grace watches the barrel come into view, still red hot. This is stupid, she decides. Then does it anyway. 

She shoves herself into the minigun, knocking the man off balance. There's a sizzle as something makes contract with the hot metal, but Grace ignores it. She swings her arm, knife point aimed at the raider’s face. The minigun falls to the ground as he catches her hand, begins to push back. Grace braces, shows teeth and pushes back as her arm starts to give.

She’s not that strong.

The man chuckles, standing taller and forcing Grace back. And now she can see him. He’s an Operator: from the tip of his boots, the well-worn suit, and to the fancy goggles over his eyes.

He begins to pry the knife from her hands, bending back fingers. He doesn't stop at just prying, he bends further and there is a _pop_ in her ring finger. Grace does not let herself shout, but she can taste blood where she’s bitten her lip. 

Think fast.

She stops resisting, adjusts her feet and kicks between his legs. She connects her knee with his sensitive bits. He lets out a high pitched shout and drops the knife as his hands move to hold himself. 

While he runs through slurs to call her, she hits him again, right in his face. She knocks his goggles askew. She wants to put a grenade in his mouth, but decides she needs his face for what she’ll do. 

She pulls her pistol from her belt and shoots. After six rounds to the chest, he drops dead. She doesn’t waste time, she runs to Gage. 

“Hey,” she says as she comes to his side, already fishing a stimpak out. “Gage can you hear me.”

“Yeah,” Gage manages to say. “Fucker got me good.” 

“Yeah,” Grace repeats, injecting the stimpak into his chest. “Alright, wait here, I have to check something.” 

“Go,” Gage nods, staying on the ground and waiting for the drug to kick in. 

Grace looks down at her hand, at her ring finger bent at a weird angle. She inhales then pops the finger back into place. "Fucker," she breathes out in a hiss. 

Grace walks past the Operator’s corpse. She goes to the guy on the ground by the door, but he’d already bled out. The two rounds Grace put in him were nothing to the stray fire from the minigun, his back is riddled. So much for getting information out of him. Even still, Grace drags the body to the middle of the room. 

She sees the couch in the corner, returns to Gage and helps him cross the distance to it. He lets out a long sigh as he lets his body sink into the old cushions. “You alright?” Grace asks.

“Yeah, Boss, I’ll be fine.” Gage waves her off. She nods and gets back to work, dragging the bodies back into the room to line them up. “Shit,” Gage says after a while. “They're all our guys.” 

“Yep,” Grace replies, digging through the pockets on the Operator. Besides ammo and bobby pins, the man has nothing of any real use. She goes to the next body, searching each person’s pockets until finally she finds something. From the Disciple’s pocket she finds a folded note. 

“You and your boys want in, then you have to earn it. We know supplies are passing through a spot outside Corvega. Wipe those guys out and hold onto the goods, we’ll come and collect in the following days. If you’re serious, you’ll be there with a nice cache waiting for us.” Grace reads the scrawl on the page aloud to Gage. “It’s signed Sinner.” 

She looks over, but Gage shakes his head. “Don’t ring any bells.” Grace hums and pockets the note in response.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks.

“Quit fussing, I told you I’m fine.” Gage replies. “Shit, we got bigger problems.” 

“I know, Gage.” Grace replies. “Stay here, I’m going to see if I can find something to carry their bodies with.” 

“What?” Gage asks. “We’re taking them back?” 

“Yeah, we need to have a bit of a disciplinary example.” Grace replies, still fuming. 

When she gets back to Nuka World, she’ll need to have another meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! It's an update! Sorry for the long delay, college happened. But I have time now to start writing again, so that's a plus!


	8. No Room For Negotiating

Grace assesses the faces of those gathered before her. Her fingers dig into the tarp she had been using to cover the heads on her counter. The leaders of the gangs look at the gathered heads with a poker face; but everyone has their tells.

Nisha frowns slightly at the sight of the Disciple helmet. Mason hums, taking in the sight. Whereas Mags’s brow dips ever so slightly and William just stares hard at the wheelbarrow by the tables, taking in the clothes on the bodies.

Shank lets out a low whistle.

“So what exactly is the meaning behind this, Overboss?” Mason asks first.

“We’re here to discuss an issue that has recently come to my attention.” Grace says as she proceeds to pull out the letter from Sinner and read it aloud to them. No one interrupts as she reads, but she can feel Gage fidget at her side. “It’s signed Sinner,” Grace concludes. “Now Shank, I was hoping you might’ve heard something about this lowlife who thinks he’s recruiting our people.” 

Shank hums, shakes his head. “Sorry, Boss, but I haven’t. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I catch wind of anything.” 

Grace nods, it’s disappointing but not entirely unexpected. 

“Let me know the first thing you hear.” She replies, then turns to the other bosses on the other side of the counter. “In the meantime, however, we have other things to concern ourselves with. I want each of you to make it clear to your people that they not only belong to your gangs, but more than that they belong to Nuka World. Because I don’t want to see this again.” She says, gesturing to the heads. “Because I will crush the people who turn against us. Traitors and deserters will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely,” Mags says, glaring daggers at the one head in Operator colors. William nods grimly behind her. Grace can feel the conversation they’ll have in the Parlor brewing from across the counter.

“No objections from me,” Mason replies. He reaches out and turns a head, examining a profile and grimacing. 

Nisha stares, the line of her lips hard. “Why make the effort? I don’t see why we don’t let them go. What difference does it make, we’ll crush them when they cross our paths again. Obviously their week and we’re better off without them in our ranks.” 

“If you think they’re so weak, then crush them yourself.” Grace replies. “If we want Nuka World to succeed, we can’t have our own go wandering off to some other shit operation. That’s basic leadership and numbers. We need people to keep things running and to hold this place in case some other shitty gang wants to move in here.”  
She watches both Black siblings nod their agreement. They both look at the Operator before them, this was originally their supply chain and one of their own sold them out. She can feel their boiling anger from across the counter. 

“I don’t care how you get the message across.” Grace continues. “Make it clear to your people that they’re lucky to be where they are and who they are. If they don’t like it, we have more than enough of those collars and work around here that needs to be done.”

She watches as Mason nods. That’s already been the Pack’s philosophy, and Grace can tell that it’s the right thing to echo.

“These are our people, but specifically yours as well.” Grace says, staring at Nisha’s helmeted face. “It’s your jobs to keep them in line here.”

“I’ll make sure my people get the message, Overboss.” Nisha finally says.

Grace nods. “See that you do. Otherwise I’ll do your job for you,” she says and dismisses them. She watches them collect the heads of their people and then descend down the elevator. 

When it is just her and Gage alone in Fizztop, she says, “Nisha isn’t going to do anything, is she?”

She looks as Gage shrugs. “Hard to say, Boss. She’s quite fond of that don’t-get-caught rule of hers.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” she replies. 

“I’d be more worried about the Pack. They’re getting antsy waiting for their parks.” Gage states. 

The moment they walked back into Nuka Town after getting off the train the Pack members on the streets had jeered at them. Those whose masks allowed it bared their teeth, other baaed and called her a sheep as she passed. 

Grace, pushing a full wheelbarrow of corpses, had threatened them with being added to the pile and some had backed off. Others, veteran raiders who had seen far worse, weren’t so easily cowed. She’d need to come up with a solution for that. 

“Mason will keep them in line. The hierarchy of the Pack is at least organized that they’ll listen to their Alpha. But the Disciples aren’t so organized.” Grace replies, walking around the counter to where the rest of the bodies are. They were already starting to stink.

But she had plans for them. And given how long it usually took her to reclaim the parks, she probably wouldn’t be around for the worst of the stench. 

By the time she walks away from Nuka Town, the uniformed remains of the raiders hang from the sides where the elevator platform comes to a stop. There is no mistaking them even without their heads, they are armored in the garments of Nuka World. She trusts the leaders of the gangs to put the heads to use, but the bodies are a message of her seriousness. 

If Nisha fails to get the message across, perhaps the hanging Disciple outside their doorstep will make it clear. Grace can only hope.

Before her detour to the Commonwealth, Grace had already scouted the last two parks. The radiation of Kiddie Kingdom doesn’t worry her. Radiation hasn’t troubled her since she input the code for Project Purity. 

The Gatorclaws, however, are a very big concern. Fortunately the giant lizards seem content to remain near the Safari, but they’ll have bigger issues should they start wandering. So that is what becomes her priority as the Operators continue to settle into the bottling plant and the Red Rocket.

* * *

Grace watches as the loincloth clad man crouches down to examine what looked to be a clump of mud and dried leaves. Or at least she choose to believe it was a clump of mud in the leaves as she tried not to look at the generous view of his backside. His fingers prodded at the ground and closed around something solid and she heard Gage give a low disgusted groan beside her.

She looks over to her second-in-command to share a look, but just as quickly their new companion is running down a path of the maze. And Grace runs right after him.

“This is stupid, you know.” Gage says beside her.

“I know,” she replies. “You have any better ideas? He knows this park best.”

Before Gage could answer there was a tell-tale roar and the sound of Cito shouting. They ran faster before coming into view of an enormous Gatorclaw as it swiped at Cito.

Together they raised their guns and fired at the beast. It’s hide was thick, but it’s underbelly was much softer. It was harder to hit, but the beast being distracted with attempting to hit Cito provided something of an opening. 

Side by side Gage and Grace put a spray of bullets into it’s underside and it dropped like a sack of bricks. 

One more down. Grace checked her pip-boy, only eight more to hunt down.”

“This maze is ridiculous,” Gage says beside her. Grace nods, hums her agreement as she looks at the park map downloaded to her wrist. The close quarters fighting isn’t particularly her favorite either.

“This way!” Cito shouts as he rounds another corner, leaving Gage and Grace to jog after him.

“Should we address the, uh, wild man in the room?” Gage asks.

“Yeah?” Grace replies, awaiting whatever it is Gage has to say.

“What do we do with him once the park is ours?”

“He might just fit in with the Pack.” Grace replies.

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“Then we clear him and his family out the old fashioned way,” Grace replies. "In the meantime, let's just hunt the stupid gators down."

* * *

It’s the early hours of the morning when Grace raises the Pack’s flag over the Safari. 

That leaves only one more issue for Grace to deal with. Her fingers ghost past the pistol on her hip as she turns to face Cito. 

He either joins the Pack or has to go, she knows.

* * *

_We are here to sieze production of the Mill.” The Paladin says._

_Ashur laughs openly, “On whose authority? The Brotherhood couldn’t hold it before. What makes you think you can now?”_

_“Paladin Ashur,” the Paladin says as though the title is a slap in the face. “You failed your mission back during The Scourge.”_

_“I failed nothing,” Ashur says. “I was left for dead, the people of the Pitt brought me back from the brink of death. Under my leadership we have flourished!” He ends with a shout, gesturing grandly to downtown behind him._

_The Paladin looks to the bodies handing off the rafters of uptown: raider and worker alike. Grace can picture the grimaces under their helmets. There is nothing grand left of the Pitt._

_Then slowly the man repeats, “We are here to seize production of steel produced by the Pitt.”_

_“Like hell you will.” Ashur spits._

_“It will improve lives,” the Paladin replies. Duke snorts at that. Even Grace highly doubts it; she knows what Brotherhood help looks like and what it costs. The only lives it will help are the Brotherhood’s, of that she is certain._

_Ashur replies, “You can tell Lyons –“_

_“Elder Lyons is dead.” The Paladin states. The news puts a pause on the conversation._

_“I doubt Sentinel Lyons would permit – “ Grace begins._

_“Sentinel – Elder – Lyons is also dead,” The Paladin replies, looking at Grace as though noticing her for the first time. His words are like a knife in her stomach. It’s one more person she’s outlived._

_After Operation Broken Steel she should’ve known; Sarah Lyons looked awful after being exposed to the radiation during the battle for the Memorial. The Pride hadn’t let her out of their sight, and now she sees why._

_It’s not fair, but the world never is to that crazy kid from 101. Sarah Lyons was the best of their order, and without her or her father she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. The Brotherhood or the Outcasts?_

_“So who’s Elder now?” Ashur asks._

_“Maxson.”_

_“The kid?” Grace says, brow knitted. She can’t help it, the words tumble from her mouth before she realizes she’s voiced them. “You people put a ten year old in charge of your order?”_

_“Watch your tongue, civilian.” A Knight sneers, standing straighter and puffing out his armored chest. It might work to intimidate the common wastelander, but Grace is not nor has never been the common wastelander. She has fought the Enclave; better armored than the Brotherhood can ever dream to be, and she does not back down._

_“Sir,” the other Knight on the Paladin’s right says, “Isn’t that James’s kid?”_

_“From the purifier? No way,” the other Knight replies, staring at her in disbelief._

_“You people have a habit of taking what doesn’t belong to you.” Grace replies tersely. Not confirming or denying their claim._

_Ashur clears his throat, low and deep. To other raiders it might sound like a warning. Grace however can tell he’s staving off another coughing fit._

_The others don’t know._

_The rest happens fast: Duke draws his gun, fires at the Paladin. Point blank, it makes more than a slight dent in their armor. The Knights flanking open fire. Ashur shoves Grace, sending her skidding onto her shoulder behind him._

_“How dare you?!” she hears Ashur shout behind her as she recovers on the ground._

_“You said wait for the signal,” Duke says, weakly gurgling blood. Grace doesn’t wait, with the ear piercing of laser rounds going off around her, she scrambles to her feet. Other raiders of the Pitt open fire from Uptown and she can hear bullets ricochets off their Power Armor._

_She runs. She runs towards Haven as raiders fall off the scaffolding of Uptown. She doesn’t stop to watch Ashur fall._

_Behind her she hears the crash of his rig._

* * *

“New friend done? No more monsters?” Cito asks, looking at the banner waving in the morning breeze. 

“There will always be more monsters.” Grace replies. Her hand is still close to her belt.

“Yes but different monsters. Monsters Cito will be able to fight with new friend's help.” Cito says, smiling up at her. “How Cito thank new friend?”

“Well, Cito,” Grace starts. She looks at Cito’s expectant expression and hesitates. Her hand drops from her belt, fuck her. “Other people will be coming to the park. Mean people, Cito. They might hurt you, or your family.” 

“Cito stop with mean people before,” he replies lifting his super sledge for emphasis.

“They’re meaner and stronger and there are a lot more of them. This place isn’t safe for you anymore.” Grace replies. This is her last peaceful chance. He has to leave.

“Cito sad.” He replies. “But Cito understand. Home too dangerous now. Cito take family and go.” 

“It’s for the best.” Grace replies. “Good luck in the wasteland.” 

“Thank you new friend. Cito will not forget you.” 

Later, Grace watches was Cito walks from the park with a troop of ghoulish gorillas. Perhaps unfair to him, but it’s better than the alternative. She would’ve hated to pull her gun on him and his family. 

She still would’ve done it if it came to it though.

“I give them five days out there,” Gage says beside her, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. Grace holds a hand out and his fishes another from the weathered carton to give. 

“Hmm, he seemed tougher than that. If he makes it a month out there then I say he’s probably in the clear.” Grace replies fidgeting with her lighter. Listening to the dull clicks as the wheel tries to spark.

Gage holds his lighter out to her, flame flickering. She leans over to light the tip of her cigarette. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me.” 

Grace chuckles. “Not a chance.” 

Gage exhales a stream of smoke. "What happened to recruiting him to the Pack?"

Grace muddles over the question for a moment, prolonging her response by taking a long drag. "I don't think it would've worked out. I don't think he can really take orders." It's mostly the truth. Or at least enough of what she knows of her choice.

"Man's built like a wall, we still probably could've used the mussel." Gage replies with a slight shrug.

"Yeah," Grace agrees. "I'm not exactly sure it would've been worth the effort keeping his family happy. And I don't think he would've approved of the Pack's zoo. One of his family ends up in the ring? Forget it, he would've turned on us."

Gage hums around his cigarette. "Good point." 

They smoke in silence as they watch for the approaching forms of the Pack’s members. She watches as they begin to make themselves at home, quickly getting to work on decorating the place in a similar fashion to the Zoo. 

“One park left,” Grace eventually says after a last exhale of smoke. She drops the bud of the cigarette and twists it into the concrete with the tip of her boot.

“Just one more.” Gage echoes beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. I got really sick in March and didn't have it in me to write.


	9. One Bad Ghoul of a Time

_Grace stumbles: her boot catching on an old piece of track in the tunnel. She’s quick enough to catch herself with another couple of quick, off-balanced steps. All the while Marie screams in her ears, but Grace just adjusts her grip and holds her tighter._

_What the hell am I going to do? She thinks as she walks through the dark tunnel. Where the hell am I going to go with the daughter of my dead boss? No, fuck that. Where am I going to go with a toddler?_

_Walking along she wonders: How long before ghouls or raiders descend upon them? How long before the wasteland spits something nasty in her path? Grace is a survivor, but Marie is an infant. An infant born immune to most mutations, but that’ll mean nothing to a ghoul’s bite or a radscorpion’s stinger._

_Still, Grace puts one tired foot in front of the other and continues down the path. No longer running on adrenaline, fatigue is starting to settle in._

_It was hours ago that Grace ran through Haven’s doors. She did as Ashur ordered, made her way to Sandra and Marie. She led them out, gun in hand. Together they ran._

__

__

_Grace knew they needed to cross the bridge. That was really the only safe way out of the Pitt she knew. Even with all the rains and the flooding, it was better than running towards an unknown._

_The three of them were halfway across the courtyard, just clear of that stupid statue, when Sandra was shot. A Brotherhood shot or one of the raiders, Grace didn’t know. Grace didn’t stop to check who was firing at them. Sandra fell, Marie held tight to her chest with one hand while her other gripped her leg._

_The leg that Grace could see was bleeding: spurts of arterial spray while bits of jagged bone were visible. Even as Sandra tried to cover it with her hand._

_Grace had stopped, skidded to a halt, as soon as Sandra had fallen. She looked at the woman for a moment, time appearing to slow through the adrenaline. In two heartbeats she decided what to do: its two heartbeats two slow._

_Some worker with a knife catches her off guard: slices across her cheek. On reflex, Grace ducks, grabs the stock of the rifle and swings it back around into his face. The man staggers under the force of a broken nose; and Grace shoots his face away at point blank range. She watches his body fall lifeless on the concrete as blood begins to pool around him. If it weren’t for the adrenaline she’d really feel the sting of the cut on her cheek. Instead she just feels the warm rush of blood pooling down her chin._

_With her attacker taken care of she looks back down at Sandra. This time she doesn’t hesitate. Grace snatches Marie from her arms, turns and runs and doesn’t look back._

__

__

_Not even as Sandra screamed after her to stop._

_But Grace didn’t stop. She ran the hell out of the Pitt, even as raiders and Brotherhood fought all around her. Even as the slaves of Downtown rearmed themselves and joined both sides. Grace didn’t stop to sort it out. She ran out the gate and headed for the bridge._

_The Pitt, what’s left of it, isn’t worth fighting for. It was never worth dying for._

_Now the Pitt is miles behind her and Marie’s constant screams are giving her a headache. In a small niche she sits down on crumbled rocks. Just to give her aching feet a rest. She tries to rock Marie, but that doesn’t soothe her either._

_She’s probably hungry, Grace thinks. “I’m hungry too, kiddo. But we don’t have anything to eat.”_

_Grace has her guns, a knife, half a clip of bullets for the combat rifle, and the clothes on her back. She’s made it through lean days, she’s survived with less in the past, but she’d always only had herself to worry about._

_Now she has Marie._

_Grace brings a tired had up to her face, feels around the jagged cut in her cheek. Prodding at it she can tell it’s deep. It probably needs stitches, she thinks. But she has nothing to tend to it with._

_She leans her head back against the wall, sighs deeply while Marie still cries. Where do I go? She thinks; where can I go?_

* * *

In the elevator to the top of the castle, the only thing Grace really wants is a shower. A decent shower with clean-ish water. Not whatever irradiated piss-colored shit has been spraying her all day as she ran around Kiddie Kingdom.

It stank to high heaven and the Geiger counter on her wrist hasn’t stopped buzzing since she stepped foot in this hell park. 

She doesn’t know what she hates more: the sprayers, the clown painted ferals, or the glowing magician. 

Beside her Gage taps his gun. She doesn’t know if it’s some tune or just idle tapping, but she watches him tap away. It’s better than focusing on the shaky feeling as the elevator climbs higher to whatever final confrontation they’re about to have. 

There’s nowhere else for Oswald to run.

There was a time Grace would’ve listened to Oswald’s sob story. A time she would’ve felt sympathetic and offered assistance. Today she doesn’t. She was here to reclaim the last park for the Pack and now, so close to the end goal, nothing was going to get in her way.

Not even a glowing pre-war ghoul.

“He just won’t die,” she shouted over to Gage, who was busy fighting off a handful of ferals the glowing bastard had reawakened.

She gave a vicious snarl, lined up her shot, and shot him on the rafters. But there was only another puff of smoke and he appeared on the other side of Gage, sword drawn.

“Gage!” she screeched. Only for him to turn too late, taking the business end of the blade across his arm as his gun sprayed blind. Another puff of smoke and the bastard reappeared on the other side of the room.

“I fucking hate magicians,” Gage practically screamed, hand closing around the fresh wound across his arm. She had a moment to watch him stagger against the wall before a ghoul knocked into her.

Teeth ripped at her shoulder and nails scraped her neck.

Grace planted her elbow into the brittle ribcage of the feral, sending it backwards as she felt ribs cave inward. She pulled the gun at her hip and emptied a clip of 10mm into it.

She didn’t stare at its black lifeless eyes for long as she fumbled to eject the empty clip and reload. Even among the chaos she worked her way to Gage’s side, picking off the ghouls as she went.

Up close she could see the wound, blood spilling past Gage’s fingers as he applied pressure. Grace knew that wasn’t going to work, it was ripped open wide by the jagged edge of Oswald’s blade. She ripped into the pocket on her thigh to fish out a Stimpak. 

At her side Gage grimaced. “We’re burning through a lot of those, boss.” 

“Stop getting hit then.” She replied.

“I’m trying, boss.” He replied, his good arm going back to his gun and shooting at something at Grace’s back. There was a squelching sound and a heavy weight hitting the floor. Another ghoul down. Grace didn’t turn to look, however as she was busy sticking the needle into his brachial artery. He grimaced, then nodded for her to go.

“Go out through the door, there’s too much radioactive shit in here. I’ll finish this.” She told him.

“Like hell I’m leaving you alone with this.” He replied. 

She didn’t argue the point. She turned to stare down Oswald once more. He looked as though he were trying to gather the strength for another radioactive burst. She aimed her pistol and shot him before he could. 

Another puff of smoke and he was in a different corner of the room, holding his side and looking out of breath himself. 

“Just fucking die already.” Grace said, punctuating each word with a shot as she strode across the room to him. 

This time he didn’t disappear. Out of tricks at last it seemed. She emptied her second clip into him. His limp body crumpled to the ground surrounded by the other ghouls.

“Gage you need to go, I’ll catch up with you.” Grace called back to him, aware of how high pitched her Geiger counter had become. Too many rads with Oswald and the barrels in the room.

“I already told you –“ He started to reply, working away from leaning against the wall.

“That’s a fucking order, Gage!” Grace snapped back. “I have the flag, I’ll be right there, now go!” 

This time he didn’t argue. She heard the decent of the elevator behind her as she riffled through Oswald’s pockets. She found a ring of keys, some ammo, a few grenades, and a scrap of paper with a single word on it. 

Looking at the terminal at the other end of the room, Grace made her way over and tried. Not too surprisingly it was the password. She set to work inputting commands, trying to make the park less of a death trap. She was at least able to turn the mist off, but the cars of the racetrack seemed out of her control. 

Satisfied that at least radiation wouldn’t be an issue anymore, she set off to go raise the Pack’s flag on the park. Then she followed after Gage down the elevator. 

He sat against the stage wall, his head leaned back as the Stimpak worked its magic on his arm. Grace made her way over to him on the side of his good arm, sliding down the wall to sit next to him.

“How’s your arm?” she asked.

“’s fine,” he replied.

Grace hummed in response. Silence settled over them for a couple of minutes. 

“Boss,” Gage started. She could hear the slight hesitation in his voice. 

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Thanks. For back there, I mean.” He said. “I know you have my back, and…well…” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Gage.” Grace replied. “You would’ve done the same for me.” 

There was a time Grace would’ve been sure he wouldn’t. That he would’ve been like any other raider or anyone else she’d met in her travels. That he would’ve thrown the job at her and told her to fix it. That he wouldn’t have given a shit about her.

But he wasn’t what the expected. She knew that now.

“Yeah, but I ain’t the boss.” Gage replied. 

Grace shrugged. It really didn’t matter to her. Overboss was an empty title, it was Gage who gave it weight.

“This was the last park.” Grace replied, tired smile on her lips.

“Yeah. I’d almost given up hope of seeing this day with all the parks under us.” 

“Been a busy couple of months.” Grace replied.

“That is has been.” Gage agreed. “What’s that thing on your wrist saying about the rad situation now?” 

Grace looked at her wrist and grimaced. “At this point we got some full blown rad sickness.” 

“No wonder I feel like shit.” 

Grace chucked at his side. “It's why I told you to go the first time. At least we got some radaway to take when we get back to Nuka Town.” 

“That an order, boss?” He asked, but Grace could hear the light sarcasm. 

Playfully she smacked his good arm.


	10. Home on the Co-op

Grace enters the larger balcony of the Fizztop grille, towel working her hair dry. The shower had been heavenly. 

She sure as hell had earned it.

Outside the sky crackled the tell-tale green of an incoming radstorm; threatening to undo the hard work the radaway had done to flush her system clean. Grace just sighed, walking over to the bar and pulling out a Nuka-cola cherry. She popped the cap on the counter’s edge and pocketed the cap as she took a sip of flat soda. 

The map of the commonwealth was sprawled across the counter. Areas of interest were already circled by Shank, she just had to decide the best way to move forward. Grace draped the towel around her shoulders and ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers played with the feeling of fresh cut stubble before they got to the longer strands. 

She heard the lift begin to run and looked up in time to see Gage enter. 

“Things look good down below, but we’ll have to sit out the incoming storm.” He said, second-in-command serious. Grace nodded. 

“Not much to do besides wait it out. Gives us time to get a game plan going anyway.” She replied, gesturing for him to take a seat at the bar. Which he did, sitting just to the left of the map. 

“Want one?” Grace asked, gesturing to the Nuka-cola. 

“Nah thanks, boss.” Gage replied, fishing out his cigarettes. He lit up and took a drag. “Any particular place you’re leaning towards?” His breath a series of smoke as he spoke.

“This Sunshine Tidings place isn’t a bad first foothold.” Grace replied. “Closer to the station, easy to set up, and there’s a farmstead not terribly far to the north.” 

“Seems a good first outpost. Any idea which gang will get the first one?”

“The Operators are getting the first two we establish, that was the agreement we made with Mags and William when we were diving the parks.” Grace replies.

“Shit yeah,” Gage replies. “Almost forgot, it’s been a while.” 

“A little over four months, not that long, Gage.” Grace replied, sarcastic smile on her lips. 

Gage shrugged. “Any prospects for the second settlement?” 

Grace hummed, hands leaning on the counter as she pointed to the heart of Boston. “There’s this small alleyway nearby Diamond City.” She pointed it out. “Another small gang currently has it. I’m debating if we should flush them out or switch them into supplying our outpost.” 

“Gang that size, it’s probably better to just take over their operation.” Gage offers.

Grace nods in agreement. “In that case, it’s a good location. It’s very close to Diamond City, so the caravans passing through the area are good opportunities. Or perhaps we set up a deal with the city and they pay us for protection.” 

“Doesn’t sound bad, boss.” Gage replies. She catches his eye lingering lower before coming back to meet her gaze. A small almost flirty smile pulls at her lips.

“There’s also this little place not far from three farmsteads to keep our people fed and also not far from Bunker Hill. Only issue is its much further east than I’d like it to be.” 

Gage cleared his throat. “And it’s by a body of water,” he observed. “Also on a major trade road. Might be worth the distance for now.” 

“It definitely has a better payoff than Hangman’s,” Grace agreed. “I’m just slightly concerned that Skinner guy might walk all over one of our outposts if it’s far enough away.” 

“We could beef up the defenses.” Gage suggests.

Grace hums in response and takes a swig of her soft drink. Lightning crackles across the sky and the first drops of radioactive rain begin to hit the roof. 

“Defenses might make the risk worth it. But first we establish Sunshine. We’ll have to wait for tomorrow before heading out to take it.” Grace says, standing straight again. Her hand still around the neck of the rocket shaped bottle. She turns, walking back from behind the counter. She slides the towel off her neck and drops it on the far side of the counter before she clears it. 

Behind her she can hear Gage shift in his seat, the light knock of his armor against the countertop. “Where ya going, boss?”

“I’m going to make good use of the time and make some armor repairs,” Grace says, looking back over to Gage. The ghouls nearly ripped it to shreds and she’ll need it to go establish the outposts. Even if she wasn’t, it’s never good to go without armor. She feels odd without it, nearly naked in the Nuka-World tank top and jeans. Her regular traveling gear is hanging up to dry.

She hangs in the doorway, a bit of a pause for invitation for Gage to say something. When he doesn't, she enters the workshop and gets to work. 

Not that she'll admit to only being slightly disappointed as she lays her tools out.

* * *

When it comes down to it, Mags and William send her a good team of Operators. Together their small group clears the area of its feral ghoul inhabitants with ease. 

Within the same day things fall into place like they had at the Red Rocket station: they strip the place down and start building it back up. The campground has quite a few buildings with good, solid foundations. Not to mention a lot of good metal scrap to be found in some old cars. 

The place even came with a Mr. Handy named Professor Goodfeels. Quite frankly everyone found the bot hilarious, so Grace kept the computer terminal that controlled him. So the bot made laps around the grounds giving the occasional “Groovy” and commenting on how “Far Out” it felt.

It took a couple of days, but most of the cabins were inhabitable. Beds were established and most basic living arrangements were built.

Better yet, a wall was being put up. While the Operators did the leg work putting the walls up, Grace was installing turrets on the rooftops of several of the buildings and giving the area a good bit of cover. The gate was going up on the southern side, but the road on the northeast wouldn’t be easy pickings either. 

Looking up at her spot on the roof, Gage called up, “Think that’s enough of ‘em?”

Grace tightened the bolt anchoring the turret to the roof, nothing was knocking it out of place. “We could always use more, but yeah, I think this will cover things for now.” Grace tosses the wrench into the tool kit. “Alright, coming down.” She calls down to Gage before descending the ladder.

“Looks pretty good so far, boss.” Gage nods, looking at the roof line of defenses. Grace nods in agreement.

“I’m thinking tomorrow we’ll hit that farm to the north, Abernathy.” Grace says. “Get food and tribute to start coming in.” 

“Like the way you think.” Gage replies, smile curling at his lips. “We’re starting to run low on rations.” 

“Yeah the food ones, distillery has us all covered on the liquid front.” Grace replies, earning a laugh. 

“Yeah well, a liquid diet isn’t going to keep everyone happy for long.” 

“I know,” Grace replies. She looks around at the wall already built around the perimeter. “Hell this is easy.” 

“Yeah?” Gage asks.

“Yeah. It’s a hell of a lot easier than what I was doing before.” Grace says and it’s true. All the years spent running around and living off scraps for what? To make life easier for people in Diamond City because of the salvage she brings in? No. It never did anything for her. She’s always been adrift, but now it feels like she actually has something to work towards. 

Hell, at the end of the day, turns out that Grace is pretty damn good at this. 

“Raiders are easy,” Grace continues. “Just don’t ask them to farm and everyone’s pretty happy.”

“Damn right, boss” Gage says beside her. An approving smile spreading across his face. "Running with you is turning out to be the best decision I've ever made."

* * *

It’s early in the morning when Grace hits the road towards Abernathy farm. Gage and two of the four Operators tag along behind her. The other two were left to keep guard over their new outpost: she doesn’t want anyone to just take what they’ve worked to build. 

Especially with the very real threat of Skinner still on her mind. They're not too far from where the Operator supply chain was attacked.

But the road north is relatively quiet, passing Walden Pond and a whole lot of nothing. 

The farm turns out to be quite large with the tato field being the first thing they see. From their spot in the bushes, Grace pulls out the jet canister that Lizzie had supplied her with. Silently she hopes the chem will work as Lizzie said, but she still has her doubts. 

“Gage and I will go ahead,” Grace instructs. “If Lizzie’s drug works right, we shouldn’t have any issues. If we do, I’ll give you two the signal to come out and make a point.” Grace says, then explains what her signal will be: hands crossed behind her back. 

Then she and Gage are approaching the little farm house. Grace will admit it’s clever of them to have built it in an old pylon. However, the way two young women there straighten up at their approach tells her that they’re probably not going to be keen on what she’s ordering. Tough shit.

Grace watches as one woman, short reddish hair, runs into the house. Grace takes that moment to inhale the chem, tossing the canister to the ground after. Time to see how effective Lizzie’s pheromone really is.

A man appears in the doorway, ushers the young woman inside and then walks the rest of the distance to meet them. “What brings you here?” He says, civil with an unmistakable undertone. They’re not welcome here.

“Hello neighbor,” Grace says with a wide smile showing too many teeth. “We just moved in down the road. You see, we have a deal to work out with you.”

The man’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah,” he says hesitantly. Like he already knows he isn’t going to like what he hears.

“See, my family is going to be needing supplies. Specifically food that you’re growing here, and it looks like you have quite the abundance.” She gestures to the thriving field of tatos. “So here’s the deal: you start sending food to my people and everyone gets to be happy.” 

The settler fidgets, eyes darting between her and Gage. Obviously used to raiders, but not quite sure about the pair of them. “I already have a business worked out with Diamond City.” He replies, but not with quite an edge to his tone that his first greeting had. “There’s not exactly enough for –“ And then Grace interrupts.

“Listen, you get to stay here with your family – which I know is important – and continue to do your thing. It’s just that you’re also going to do _our_ thing. Mainly feeding my family down the way and that’s all I’m asking of you. And here’s an extra bonus: when you provide for us, you won’t be touched by any other gang. Think of it as a kind of insurance policy!” 

Again her smile widens as she sees the gears turning in the man’s head. But his eyes aren’t as focused, he’s not fidgeting as much. And eventually he sighs, looks sullen, and says, “Fine. We’ll pay you tribute.”

“Excellent.” Grace says. “You’ll see that this was the right decision. Now have a nice day.” Then she turns, nodding her chin at Gage and together they walk back the way they came.

“That went a hell of a lot smoother than I expected.” Gage says beside her.

“Yeah, I’ll have to thank Lizzie for that chem. It really worked well.”

“Not that you don’t have a way with words but –“ Gage replies before his words are drowned out by a woman shouting at them from behind. They turn to see another young woman, probably a bit older than the red haired one, come up to the fence at their farm. 

“Like we’re going to bow down to this and let them walk all over us!” Grace hears her shouting, as the man they’d spoken to tries in vain to calm her. “Fuck you! We’re not doing anything for you raiders!” She shouts across the distance between them. 

“Uh-oh,” Gage says beside her, but worry isn’t in his tone. It’s slightly more amused by this woman’s courage as she throws open the gate and continues closer. Grace holds her ground, doesn’t move an inch as the woman continues her approach. 

“I’m tired of scum like you constantly showing up, thinking you’re going to strong-arm us into doing your bidding! Do your own fucking farming or pay caps like everybody else!” She continues to shout. 

Grace can see Gage’s hand begin to drift towards his holster. “I think you have the wrong idea,” Grace says. “We’re only asking that you pay tribute, nothing more. Consider yourselves lucky, other gangs would’ve –“ 

Grace doesn’t finish as a gunshot rings across the open field and the woman’s head bursts into a cloud of red. 

Someone from the house screams. Another shouts a name: “Mary!” But Grace doesn’t respond right away. She thinks, frozen in place as she realizes that her arms are firmly at her sides. A second ago they were loose, but still at her sides. 

Not once did she cross them behind her back.

It’s then that she hears the other Operator behind her. “You alright, boss?” Grace turns fast and sees the rifle in his hand. Then she’s moving. 

“Annoying wasn’t she,” the Operator says, like it's all a big joke to him. She got his name days ago, but right now she can’t recall it. Not with the white knuckle anger boiling just under her skin. The raider seems to sense something is off and starts to step backwards at her approach. “Boss?” 

“One job.” Grace says through her teeth, reaching and grabbing him by the front of his armor. “You had one fucking order and you couldn’t even follow it. What part of “wait till the signal” wasn’t quite clear?” She snarls.

The Operator looks at her wide-eyed. 

“Anyone ever tell you why it’s a bad idea to kill farmers you’re getting supplies from?” She says, looking at the other Operator still standing behind cover. He shakes his head quickly. “If you shoot all the farmers, who’s going to grow the food?”

Both raiders remain quiet. The one in her grip looks panicked. 

“Furthermore, I said nothing about shooting up the farm!” Grace says with her hand on her pistol. “You were given instructions, I expected you to follow them, not go in shooting as you see fit.” 

The Operator continues to stare, and says nothing. Grace thumbs the safety off her 10 mm., places it under his chin and pulls the trigger. He falls to the ground with a slump and Grace looks to the other raider. 

“If I give an order with instructions, I expect it to be followed exactly as I said it.” 

“Yes Overboss,” the other Operator says, standing straighter. 

Grace doesn’t give any indication of approval. Instead she looks behind her at the distressed family of settlers. “One for one. I still expect your tribute within a couple of days.” She doesn’t wait for a reply. 

Instead she walks, Gage and one other raider tagging along behind her. She leads them back to the road south as she puts distance between herself and the farm. 

Good thing her father died proud of her. He would hate her now if he could see her. Though to be fair, he probably knew what she’d become watching her in Tranquility Lane. She’s not sure he ever stopped being the dog who watched the Pint Sized Slasher murder a neighborhood.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that technically the Nuka World raiders are only supposed to be there one year before the Sole Survivor gets there, but that's the minor timeline change I'm making here.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Also I know I said I'd take some time off from Grace's story after finishing her events in FO3, but I couldn't help but start writing. So I hope you've enjoyed the latest chapter of her adventure. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are all welcome and greatly appreciated!


End file.
